Wake Me Up
by make.tracks.cowboy11
Summary: Jim receives a peculiar call from Pam in the middle of the night that slowly turns into a habit for the pair. Multi-Chapter, set after Booze Cruise. Based loosely on the lyrics to "Wake Me Up" by Billy Currington
1. Chapter 1

At 12:26 on a Friday night-well, Saturday morning, _technically_ -most people his age would be out at the bar, or sitting on beat up couches in someone's living room, surrounded by good company, food, and laughter.

But not James Halpert.

Instead, Jim was sitting on his _own_ beat up couch, surrounded by the company of old Boy Meets World reruns, laughter provided by Walt Disney Studios, and a half empty bag of Doritos.

The bachelor life was, indeed, as glamourous as they made it seem.

Sure, he had received numerous invitations to go out and do normal things that twenty-something single men did on the weekends. The guys from the warehouse had asked him to join them at Poor Richard's for their weekly beer and darts games, but he said he had plans elsewhere. Technically not a lie: He had plans with his couch, and Cory and Topanga.

Mark, his roommate, invited him to tag along on his double date to see "When A Stranger Calls." He'd said he didn't want to be a fifth wheel. Not a lie at all. Fifth-wheeling was lame, and "When A Stranger Calls" _also_ looked lame.

Even his brother, Pete, had offered to come over for drinks and pizza and Xbox competitions like they had done when they were in high school. He's said he was sick.

And although he'd felt bad for turning his own flesh and blood down, that one wasn't entirely a lie either.

He was heartsick.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he couldn't pull himself together enough to have a good time when the forefront of all his thoughts was always her.

 _Pam._

Pam, who he was hopelessly, irretrievably, unrequitedly in love with.

Pam, who was his best friend, his pranking partner, his confidant. She made him laugh so hard that he shed tears, made his worst moods seem insignificant, made him see a new lightness to his otherwise dull-grey life. She was the woman who always made sure there was an extra stash of green jellybeans behind her desk-in a separate bowl, just for him-because she knew they were his favorite.

She was the very same woman who, not a few weeks prior, he had almost bared his soul to on the deck of the Lake Wallenpaupack Princess. She had blamed the cold, went back inside the cabin, and less than an hour later, had set a date for her wedding.

He hadn't been quick enough.

He had choked; simple as that.

And now, he was wallowing in self pity.

It wasn't so bad during the week. During the week, he could busy himself in his work, stay at the office until day turned to night, spend an abnormal amount of time making elaborate dinners for one, and then bother his roommate until both of them were tired out.

It was the weekends that had begun to kill him.

For the first weekend after what he had officially dubbed "The Blues Cruise," (Because now I'm singin' the blues about my pathetic love life. Get it?! he had shared with Mark, who rolled his eyes on his way out the door), he had definitely made a solid effort of drowning his sorrows in the bottle. He let Darryl and some guys from the warehouse get him belligerently drunk, paying for shot after shot as they helped him to-as he had easily convinced them-"get over Katy." A few downward glances, some references to a "fight on the boat," even a misplaced tear, and they were all too easily convinced. Quickly, he was three sheets to the wind.

The only problem with his master plan was that, although he was manipulating his friends into buying him drinks to "get over" his ex...girlfriend? He wouldn't consider her _that_ significant. His ex-distraction was much better. Regardless, the alcohol was supposed to make him _forget_. Didn't matter if his buddies thought he was trying to forget Katy when he was actually using it to forget the _fianceé_ of one of the men who was supplying the alcohol (while subsequently patting his back and telling him things like, "Damn, Halpert, that red-headed fox is gonna be tough to get over. If I wasn't engaged to Pammy, I'd for sure be tryin' to rebound on that!"). The results had been the exact opposite.

Seven beers and three shots of tequila later, he found himself stumbling into a booth, spouting fragmented, _I miss her so much_ -es and _Why can't she just be with me_?'s. Of course, without saying a name, he was still so much under the disguise of grieving the loss of Katy, and the men catered to him like any "bros" would do. Outside, the alcohol conjured the image of a man grieving a short relationship. Inside, the alcohol was creating vivid images of Pam in his brain, flashes of her smile, the way she stuck her tongue between her teeth when she smirked at him, that giggle that lit him up like a Christmas tree. It was pure torture.

He said he felt sick and they called him a cab, and he spent the next six unbearable hours lying awake, watching mind-memories of Pam while he absentmindedly followed the clockwise rotation of his ceiling fan.

So, going out was clearly _not_ the solution, and neither was alcohol. He was trying to _forget_ , and alcohol just made it worse.

He had come to settle for grape soda (he was on his fifth, at this point in the night), and reruns of mindless television. While they didn't make him forget entirely, his mind was certainly lost for at least a few hours until his body complained with exhaustion. It was only when he finally dragged himself up the stairs that he was suddenly wide awake, his mind swimming with thoughts of Pam: memories of Pam, fantasies of a future with Pam, weird scenarios where he replaced beloved movie characters with himself and Pam (most recently, they starred together in _The Notebook_ ). It was the weekend's where he lost the most sleep.

As midnight turned to 1, and one AM crawled towards two, his cell phone rang. An expression mixed with intrigue and annoyance played at his brows. It was most likely Mark wanting a ride home because he and his girlfriend had drank too much and he was too cheap to pay for a cab. Whatever. It would give Jim something to do while he waited for morning to come.

But it wasn't Mark.

It was Pam.

Pam Beesly, calling him at 1:37 in the morning.

Something was clearly wrong.

As this realization dawned on him, his phone was instantly at his ears, and his "Pam? Is everything okay?" was quickly cut off.

"Oh my god, Jim, I'm so sorry. I woke you up, didn't I?"

"Pam, are you okay? Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

It wouldn't have mattered if she had woken him. She could wake him up to unjam her toaster for all he cared.

"No, Jim, I'm fine. God, this is so stupid. I shouldn't have called you. I just...nevermind. I'm so sorry I interrupted your night."

He could hear the desperation and frustration in her voice as he let out his own sigh of relief at her safety. He could breathe again. His muscles relaxed, and he sank back into the couch.

"Well, I'm glad you're safe, Beesly. But seriously, what's going on? Shouldn't _you_ be sleeping? It's almost two in the morning."

"I could say the same to you, Halpert." He could hear the smile tugging at her lips. Whatever was bothering her, he had clearly put her at ease. That brought him some semblance of pride.

"Well, obviously we're both wide awake," he quipped, shifting himself so that his legs were now splayed across the couch, propped up on one another. "So what's up with the booty call?"

The words slipped out, and his gulp was masked by her giggle on the other end of the call, 7 minutes and 29 seconds across town (without being stopped by lights. With lights, it was 8 minutes and 3 seconds).

"Ughh, Jim, I swear I only called you because I didn't know what to do. Now, I'm seriously regretting it, because I know you're not going to give up until I tell you."

"Damn straight, Beesly. So spill. For what expertise of mine are you calling to inquire about on this fine Saturday morning? Did you need my grilled cheese recipe for a midnight snack? Did you wake up from a dead sleep with a new idea to prank Dwight that you just needed to tell me about now? Are you Patient Zero of a new strain with zombie-like symptoms that you need my assistance curing before you turn into a flesh-eating monster?"

He listened to moments of laughter trail into radio silence on her end for what seemed like forever before she began to speak with an echo he hadn't noticed until now.

"Um, not exactly." She trailed off, silent again, before an offer that made his heart nearly beat out of his chest. "Since you're obviously as awake as I am, would you want to come over? It would just be easier to show you."

It was nearly two-o'clock on Saturday morning, and Pamela Morgan Beesly had just asked him to come over.

Surely he was reading into this, wasn't he?

The last he'd checked-which had been right before she'd left work earlier that afternoon-she was still wearing her engagement ring. She hadn't called him crying, so he assumed she and Roy were still together. So why was she calling him over to her house in the middle of the night?

He was on his feet, coat in hands, before the words had left his mouth.

"Yeah, sure, I'll be there in like 10 minutes."

She seemed to sigh in relief, only peaking his curiosity as to what was truly happening over on Monroe Avenue.

"Awesome, see you soon!"

"Yeah, see you soon."

Jacket mis-buttoned, he jumped into the frigid February air in a sweat that countered the 19 degree weather.

He made the drive in 6 minutes flat.


	2. Chapter 2

Both not wanting to let on that he had broken at _least_ 4 different traffic laws on the way over, and to collect himself before he entered Pam's house _at two-o'clock on a Saturday morning_ , Jim sat in the driveway for 5 minutes, taking deep breath after deep breath.

"It's not that big of a deal. She needs your help with something. She's not going to get down on her knees and make some big declaration of love," he said into his own dark eyes that were staring back at him from the vanity mirror. "Pam is your f _riend_. Nothing more. Stop sweating like a pig and go help her out."

With one last large intake of cold air, he walked up the steps and gently knocked on the door. She was opening it before he could reach his fourth knock.

He had only ever seen "outside of work" Pam a few times, mostly at Poor Richard's on a Thursday or Friday night when everyone went out for drinks, and then twice more when he had offered to be her ride when Roy had gone to visit his brother for an extended weekend. But those times didn't count, because that Pam was still "office Pam," dressed in pencil skirts and plain cardigans with her hair clipped back behind her head. Of course, this was the Pam that he had fallen in love with. But the Pam standing in front of him was making him fall in love all over again.

This Pam was wearing candy-cane-striped pajama shorts and a Valley View High School Art Club t-shirt. This Pam had her hair in a loose ponytail. This Pam had no makeup and glasses, which did little to cover the redness in her cheeks. This Pam smelled of vanilla. Was it lotion? Body wash?

He could very quickly get used to this Pam.

But he shook his head, quickly warding off those thoughts, regaining his composure. He was not here to fall deeper in love with Pam. He was here to… What _was_ he here for?

"Alright, Beesly. I'm gonna need a hammer, a shoe, and a jar of mayonnaise if we're going to get rid of this monster that's hanging out under your bed."

His halfway grin was returned with a sheepish smile of her own. She stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

"Trust me, the only 'monster' around my bed is otherwise occupied tonight." Her eyes rolled, while his brows knit together. Before he could ask, she said, "So, are you _sure_ I didn't wake you up? I feel so bad."

"Pam, trust me, the only thing you interrupted was my third time through the Boy Meets World series. Stop sayin' you're sorry."

"Oh my god! I was doing the same thing!" She gestured towards the tv where Cory, clad in a diving suit, waved a sign at Topanga that read, "I WILL CHASE YOU FOREVER." The irony was not lost on him, and his giggle was more nervous than he let her realize.

"Well then, I wouldn't want you to miss the epic conclusion; this is a good one. We'd better get to...doing whatever it is you needed my help with. What...what exactly was that again?"

Her cheeks deepened in their already crimson color, and he saw her body tense up, her chin hitting her chest in embarrassment.

"Jim, if I let you help me, you have to promise, _PROMISE_ , you'll just help me out and never speak a word of this ever again." She glanced up at him, worry in her eyes, her small frame making her seem childlike. "Do you promise?"

"I promise."

At his declaration, she relaxed, spun on her toes, and beckoned with her entire arm for him to follow her. He had never been this far into her house. Well, technically, he'd never really been _in_ her house at all. He'd gotten as far as her front porch to pick her up those few times, and all he'd seen was the front entryway. He truly had no idea where she was taking him. They passed the kitchen on one side and the living room on the other, down a dark hallway where they passed several rooms before entering the one with the light on.

Her bedroom.

 _Their_ bedroom.

A chill shot down his spine. His entire body tensed. He tried his hardest to put on blinders, to avert his gaze from the place where Roy had, more than likely time and time again, ravaged her naked body. He focused on the floor, which did him no better, because he noticed Roy's boxers shed next to the bed. 20 minutes ago, he had wanted nothing more than to be in her house, in her presence. Now, he was desperate to finish the task she had for him and get the hell out.

Suddenly, she stopped. More specifically, she stopped outside the door to what was presumably the master bathroom. Her head was hung low again, and she she was blocking the door with her tiny body.

Taking a deep breath, she began.

"Okay, so, you have to understand, Roy's a _guy_ , so, sometimes Roy does guy _things_ , and…" Her speech was rushed and random. She had crossed her arms, uncrossed her arms, balled her fists at her sides, and recrossed her arms. Jim was beginning to grow concerned. Roy did "guy things?" Was he hurting her? Was this her way of telling him.

She was looking every which way, avoiding his gaze, grappling for what to say next. He was about to interject when she began again, her face now beet red.

"Roy's kind of gross, Jim. He doesn't flush the toilet half the time, and tonight before he left for the bar, he said he had a stomach ache, and he almost didn't go out, but he _did_ , and he didn't flush the toilet, and I didn't realize it until now, and then when I went to flush it, it _wouldn't_ work, and now the bathroom smells horrendous, and I _really_ have to pee, and we're replacing our other toilet so there isn't even one _in_ the other bathroom and I don't know what to do, and I have a broken toilet and this is just the worst ever and I'm so sorry!"

He wanted to laugh.

He really, _really_ wanted to laugh.

Seeing how stressed and embarrassed and fidgety and thoroughly _red_ she was from her nose to her toes (which, he noticed, were painted pink), he decided not to laugh.

He would do that in the privacy of his own home.

For now, he stuck with shaking his head, smirking, and taking a step towards the bathroom door.

Never in his life did he think he would literally be fixing Roy Anderson's _shit._

But for Roy Anderson's fiance, he would do anything.

"I have one condition, and one condition only."

"Anything." Her eyes were pleading, and he noticed that she was a bit jumpy. She was doing a potty dance. He felt that urge to laugh bubble inside him again, but he refrained.

"You owe me _the biggest_ bowl of ice cream when I'm done with this."

"Done!" She was so desperate, it was almost adorable. Okay, it was adorable. But he wasn't here for adorable.

She turned again to walk into the bathroom, looking over her shoulder with the warning, "I'd hold my breath if I were you."

Now growing serious, he took one more breath of fresh air before nearing the culprit of Pam's anxiety. The air he inhaled smelled like her.

He approached the toilet, jiggling the handle to hear a distinct echoing inside the tank. He chuckled, and began moving the items off of the lid: A can of Glade pine-scented spray (dangerously empty, he noticed, as he took a faint whiff of the air around him), and a bottle of Jergen's lotion whose scent he recognized. Removing the toilet tank lid, he noticed her standing behind him and off to the side, shifting on her toes to get a better look at what he was doing. He was finished before she could blink twice.

"Go ahead and give it a shot, Beesly." He stepped to the side, gesturing widely with both arms for her to try flushing again. When the toilet flushed, Jim was entirely taken aback by the thin, warm arms that were suddenly wrapped around him. Seconds later, they were gone, replaced by squealing, jumping, and clapping.

"Oh my god, Jim, you are my _hero_!"

 _Wow, was that all I had to do? Shoulda gone into the plumbing business a long time ago_ , he pondered, watching her finish her celebration, use the last of the pine tree spray, and open up the toilet lid to a now clean bowl.

He crossed his arms, smirking in admiration of his handy work (both the fixed toilet _and_ the smiling Pam), when she turned towards him sheepishly again.

"Uh, Jim, could you… I kinda need to…"

"OH, right, right! My bad."

He backed out of the bathroom, his chuckling only ceased by the sudden realization that he was back in their bedroom. Half of him wanted to stay and absorb every detail. The other half knew better.

Ducking his head, he went back out into the hallway, stopping when he reached safe ground in the living room where he was met by Cory and Topanga embracing in front of the EPCOT Center fountain.

 _If only it were that easy._

He heard her footsteps before he saw her, the color in her cheeks returning to her normal peach color. Her lips and eyes told a story party of embarrassment but also of gratitude.

"Jim, you have _no idea_ how much I appreciate you right now."

Her glance was more downward than meeting his, and he tried his best to reassure her when he retorted, "Well, I guess you could _show_ me with that bowl of ice cream you promised."

Immediately, her eyes shot up, wide, and she had barely said, "Right!" before she was ducking to the right and into the kitchen. Reluctantly, he followed her, deciding to pause at the breakfast bar rather than stalking her all the way to the freezer. He perched himself atop a circular stool while he watched her get two bowls from a high cabinet, noticing how her t-shirt rose just enough so that a sliver of skin shown. He looked away, desperately craving the ice cream for a much different reason now.

Moments later, she slid a bowl of Rocky Road and a spoon across the bar to him. Holding up her own spoon, with a dollop of ice cream already careening over the sides, she began her toast.

"To James Duncan Halpert: The greatest toilet repairman there ever was!"

He chuckled, offering his spoon to be clinked before shoveling the ice cream into his mouth. Apparently, half of a family sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and four and a half grape sodas wasn't a substantial dinner.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she broke.

"So, are you going to reveal your secret plumber ways?" She waggled her eyebrows, grinning at him as she put another heaping spoonful past her lips.

"No can do, Beesly. That would put me out of business. And the Booty Call Plumbing Corporation has a hard enough time raking in the dough as it is."

She chuckled, rolling her eyes.

"But in all seriousness, your chain came loose. I just put it back on. _Magicccccc_." He waved his hands in the air, wiggling his fingers as he did so.

"Seriously? That was it?" Her eyes lidded in annoyance. She was frustrated with herself. But she surely was enjoying his company.

"That was it," he chuckled. "Maybe next time I can show you how to unclog a shower drain."

Her eyerolls were becoming commonplace as she turned to put her now empty ice cream bowl in the sink. Looking down, he noticed that the only remnants in his own bowl were now soup. His ice cream was gone. He was going to have to go soon.

He didn't want to go.

He dragged his spoon around the bowl, making shapes in the melted chocolate.

"You know Jim, I have this magical thing in my freezer called 'a carton of more ice cream' if you want more."

Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. Standing up, he rounded the breakfast bar, and in a few long strides he was standing next to her. With hands clutching the bowl and hovering above the sink, he lowered his voice to a whisper that he didn't realize was as husky as she had noticed.

"See, as enticing as that offer sounds, if I had another bowl, you might end up with another broken toilet on your hands, and no one's going to be around to fix it."

Her eyes bugged out of her head, eliciting a tension-breaking guffaw from Jim before he turned the water on and began to wash his bowl.

"Halpert! You promised never to speak of it again! It's been like, _five_ minutes!"

"To be fair, Beesly, I never mentioned the fact that your disgusting fiance left you with a toilet full of literal shit and then went to the bars all night. I simply declined your second offer of ice cream."

With a championed smirk, she laughed, rolled her eyes for the third time in the past minute, and slapped him in the arm as she walked out of the kitchen.

As she passed him by, her front nudged against his back, and his entire body tensed at the feel of her thin, cotton pajamas rubbing up against him.

 _Keep your cool here, Halpert._

After taking several deep breaths, and splashing some water from the tap on his face, he joined her in the living room. She was standing in front of the television, remote in her hand, presumably getting ready to shut it all down for the night.

Awkwardly, he approached her, standing more towards the entryway than the actual living room.

She was going to kick him out, right? As much has he had enjoyed the past-how long had he actually been there?-15 minutes, he knew this was just a fluke in the story of Jim and Pam. Soon, she would give her undying gratitude, say her goodbye, and fold back into the life where Roy shared her bed and Jim was the afterthought. Sighing, he gestured towards the television.

"Gettin' ready to call it a night?"

"Absolutely not! We missed the best part of the episode. Wanna finish it with me?" She glanced over, and he realized that she was rewinding the episode to where it had been when he entered.

Had she just invited him to _stay_? _Longer_?

He had heard that correctly, right?

 _We_ missed the best part.

She was sitting down. She was beckoning him over to the couch. She was patiently waiting for him to sit down before she hit _Play._

He stood there, dumbfounded, before deciding that this was a dream.

A deliciously rude, grape-soda-induced, dream.

So he pinched himself.

It hurt.

Pam's eyebrows furrowed.

He was really standing there, pinching himself like an idiot at the moment, while she waited for him to come sit down.

"Sure, absolutely," was all he could muster before joining her on the couch.

She had chosen the middle seat, which was both awesome and terrible at the same time.

Awesome because he would be sitting right next to her. Terrible because he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle sitting so closely without breaking out in a cold sweat. She grinned up at him, eyes twinkling under her glasses, as she pressed play.

It took a full scene before Jim let the tension in his body relax and mold into her couch.

Well, _their_ couch. He wasn't just in Pam's house. He was in Roy's house, too.

They giggled at the, "What's a Topanga?" crack, Pam commenting, "Ya know, that was always my only issue with this show: the name Topanga. Seriously? They couldn't have gone with something a bit more _norma_ l?"

Jim just chuckled, revelling in how easy this was. Sitting on the couch, Pam next to him, both of them full of ice cream and watching a show from their childhood. Being relaxed. Laughing. It felt like home.

He was thrown back into reality when Cory made his speech to the dolphin, echoing his own day-in and day-out thoughts.

 _So, Amber, you're separated from your mate, huh? I know how you feel. Not that Topanga's my...mate or anything, I just.. believe she is. It's funny though, ya know, people tell you to get on with your life, go date, there's plenty of other fish in the sea… You see, we know that once you've met that special person, it's hard to live knowing they're out there and they're the only one you care about._

He was grateful that Pam seemed to be as nomadic as him when it came to television watching habits and that all of the lights were off, or she might have seen how red his face had grown. Instead, she was sighing and doing all of those things that girls did when guys on tv made big declarations of love. As the episode rolled on, and the guy got the girl, Jim's thoughts were consumed by two things: 1) By how much he empathized with the words still echoing in his brain. Plenty of people close to him had told him to move on, to "get back out there" and "forget about her" like it was the easiest thing in the world to do. That hurt. It hurt to be sitting next to her right now, knowing that playing house would soon be over, that he would leave and Roy would come home and that would be the end of it. He got it.

Secondly, he was upset with himself for empathizing with a teenaged boy from a Disney Channel show. His eyes rolled right along with the credits.

"Ugh, I love that episode," Pam gushed, throwing her head back into the cushion of the couch.

Jim chuckled. "Oh really? I hadn't noticed by the way that you _insisted_ we rewind it."

She playfully slapped him across his chest, his body running hot as her fingers grazed him.

"Oh stop it, Halpert. You said you were up watching it, too. Is Boy Meets World your guilty pleasure show?"

She was now turned towards him, sitting cross-legged on the couch, her knees breathing against his thigh. He turned slightly, both so that he could see her better and to break the contact of a touch that was no doubt going to drive him crazy.

"No, my guilty pleasure show is _definitely_ Desperate Housewives, but don't tell Dwight."

When she giggled, she rocked forward, and her knees pressed right into his left thigh. Did she realize the power that she held over him?

"But in all seriousness, my brothers and I used to watch Boy Meets World growing up. It had a lot of good lessons. Plus, we loved Topanga, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows, receiving another eyeroll, which he smirked at.

"You boys and your Topanga," she retorted. "So, what _were_ you doing up so late anyway? You're sure I didn't wake you up?"

He tensed, for what seemed like the hundredth time since he'd entered her home. What was he supposed to say?

 _I pretty much spend every night sleepless because I'm thinking about how I almost told you that I'm in love with you when we were on that boat?_

 _I spend countless hours imagining the life we could have together and that usually takes up most of my sleep time?_

None of these options seemed ideal.

"I guess I couldn't sleep," he shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Hasn't really been coming for me lately, I don't know. What were _you_ doing up so late, Beesly?"

At this, she bit her lip and looked away. _Was_ she hiding something? She chewed on her lip for a moment before answering.

"Roy and his friends went out tonight. I don't usually sleep much while he's out."

His heart dropped. Of _course_ she couldn't sleep while Roy was out. She couldn't sleep without him beside her. She was waiting for him to come home.

A whispered, "Oh," was all he could muster, before she spoke again, not even hearing his reply.

"It's just _so much easier_ to stay up until he gets home, honestly. He comes barreling in, making a _fuck ton_ of noise, and I'd rather just wait until he comes barreling through the door than be woken up by it."

Oh.

That was _not_ the answer he had been expecting. As his thoughts continued to wrap around her words, she added more.

"Or he'll call, at like, _three AM_ to tell me he's spending the night at Darryl's. Like, thanks for waking me up just to tell me I can go to bed! Honestly."

She was annoyed. She was actually sitting there expressing her _annoyances_ about her fiance with Jim. The only words he could pull out of the tangled mess in his brain was, "Wow, that _sucks_."

"If fricken' does, Jim. It really fricken does." He felt her body sink into the couch as she turned to dangle her legs off the couch. She looked so defeated, and he could hear that in her voice when she whispered, "Sometimes, I just don't get Roy."

All of a sudden, he was back on the deck of the Lake Wallenpaupack Princess. She was staring up at him, longingly, desperately, begging him to speak. His words were caught in his throat. Was he being given a second chance? His eyes shifted from left to right, breath growing rapid, heart threatening to beat through his skin, when she spoke again.

"Oh well. You wanna watch the next episode? I think this is the last one until the weird cartoons come on."

He'd blown it. _Again._

"Sure. Gotta find out if Cory and Topanga can survive another episode!"

But it wasn't the worst failure in the world. She smiled, hit play, and settled back down, her body molded relaxedly into the couch, her right side whispering against his left. This time, out of spite, he let himself enjoy this.

At some point, she began to yawn. At another, she reached back to take the ponytail out of her hair, shaking out her curls before sinking lower into the couch. As Eric receives the letter stating that he hadn't gotten into college, he felt her head drop onto his shoulder, her breathing slow, and her body relax against his own.

He almost cries.

Instead, he lets himself relax, not wanting to wake her. He closes his eyes, taking in every part of this.

She smells faintly of vanilla, Rocky Road ice cream, and some kind of lavender body wash.

Her curls are soft, not scratchy.

Her glasses are pressing into his shoulder. While the pressure gives him comfort, he wonders if it is hurting her.

Her legs have goosebumps where her shorts end.

The fingers on her right hand are curled, brushing his thigh as if she were trying to grasp for him when she fell asleep.

Her lips are parted, breath escaping every few seconds as she exhales.

He has never experienced a greater state of euphoria in his life.

Not realizing how much he truly needed it, his body begins to relax, and his eyes close, his head tilting to rest atop hers. The last thing that he sees before he slips into slumber is her cheek, mere centimeters from his lips. His last thought is of how much he wants to kiss her goodnight.

Suddenly, a cell phone is ringing, limbs are flailing.

Suddenly, his body is cold from where hers had been pressed against him.

She ran across the room in search of her phone. He realized that she had been right: the Disney Channel had some strange, middle of the night cartoons. It was 3:47 AM.

Mumbles resound from the kitchen, her phone clicks shut, and she returns, clearly exhausted, as if she was sleepwalking.

"Roy?" he asks, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

"Mhm," she manages back, barely able to keep her eyes open. "'s staying at Darryl's. Very drunk. Good riddance," she continues. "Told you. Better to just stay awake."

She rolls her eyes again. He gives her a sympathetic grin, standing up and stretching his limbs.

"Ugh, tell me about it. When _my_ Roy calls and wakes me from a dead sleep, you do _not_ wanna mess with me."

She giggles, sighs, and yawns hugely.

Standing awkwardly as he had been 2 hours ago, he shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Well, Beesly, as much as I'd like to make fun of these weirdo cartoons with you, I should probably let you get some sleep."

Suddenly, her eyes open wide. She looks at him, around the room, and back at him. Searching for what, exactly, he can't tell. She sighs, looks at her feet, and nods twice in agreement.

"Yeah, I suppose I should let you do the same."

She approaches him, suddenly only a foot away, her eyes wide, staring into his. Wrapping her arms around him, she buries her head in his chest.

"Thank you so much for coming over and helping me out. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

He hesitates, tensing once again, but quickly gives in and envelops her with his own arms. Although her hug is one filled with thanks, he pretends otherwise. He rests his chin atop her head, and takes another mental photograph. He breathes in the scent of her shampoo, muttering, "Anytime, Beesly," before she lets go.

"Just make sure you start taking beans out of Roy's diet."

She drops her chin, shoulders heaving up and down as she laughs, embarrassed once again, at his comment.

"Never gonna let me live this down, are ya?"

"Nope, never."

He is at the door, going back out into the cold that affects him this time around.

He offers one more, "Bye, Beesly," before starting his car and making the trip to his house.

Not his home.

He left his home on Monroe Avenue.

Tonight, with her scent still lingering, and her touch still warming his skin, he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

Well, Roy was home.

It was 11:32 AM. In contrast to her normal Saturday morning routine, she had only been awake for thirty minutes. Usually, she let herself sleep in until about 8:30 before she began the weekend chores that she and Roy "split" (more like s _he did 85% of the work and he complained about her vacuuming being too loud during the game_ ). But this morning, she let herself succumb to the delicious slumber that had overcome her body at 4 AM. Waking up at 11 o'clock had been wondrous.

But now, Roy was home, and the few minutes of peace that she had been drowning in while engulfed by the covers in the middle of the bed, were gone.

It was as if Roy had woken up still drunk, stumbling in the house and knocking into things like it was 3 AM and not almost lunchtime. She sighed and rolled her eyes, which she found was quickly becoming a habit when it came to Roy, and let herself save one more moment of serenity before facing him.

As she closed her eyes, she tried to choose a peaceful image to pocket for the day and pull out during the inevitable spats that they'd have as the day wore on. She found herself surprised when the flash of a memory came back from not a few hours prior: _Jim_.

She had been trying to conjure up an image that would calm her. Usually, picturing herself sitting on a terrace with a paintbrush or sketchbook in hand would do the trick. But as soon as her lids closed over her tired eyes, it was Jim's warmth, the comfort of his shoulder, that unexpectedly crept into her consciousness.

At first, her eyes popped open, and she pulled the covers up under her chin, glancing around the room to make sure Roy hadn't seen. It took her a moment to realize that she was alone. Jim wasn't there. Hadn't ever been in her bed. They had fallen asleep for an hour while watching tv. What was so wrong with that? Why was she embarrassed?

Why was the image of Jim wrapped around her, his hair flopping on the pillow beside her, suddenly flashing before her?

And who had turned the thermostat up to 100 degrees?

Her trance was disrupted by Roy's cloppy feet trudging down the hallway. She sat up in bed and prepared herself for what would ultimately be a day of nagging, bickering, and annoyance, with a constant soundtrack of college basketball.

"You're still in bed?"

His hair was disheveled, clothes wrinkled, eyes still bloodshot.

 _This, ladies and gentlemen, is the man I'm marrying_ , she thought, as he belched loudly, the stench of beer and pretzels wafting throughout the room. Maybe she should suggest he start leaving a toothbrush at Darryl's.

"Yeah, I was tired," she shrugged, feigning indifference. Maybe if she did it long enough, he'd go away.

"Tired? Didn't you stay in last night?" His scoff only served to further piss her off.

"Doesn't mean I didn't stay up late," she retorted, a hint of annoyance teetering at the edge of her words. "You don't have to go out partying to have a good time, ya know."

As she spat the last sentence at him, throwing the covers off of herself and hurling her body out of bed, she noticed two things:

The first was that she found herself actually letting Roy's nuances get to her. There had always been things that bothered her about Roy. When they were in high school, it was that he partied after football games instead of hanging out with her in her parent's basement watching movies. He drank in parking lots rather than going through a drive-thru and sharing a shake and fries. He smoked the occasional joint instead of spending any semblance of quality time with her. Of course, everyone at Valley View did that sort of thing-the illegal activities, anyway. But Roy would often ridicule her for _not_ joining in. His incessant, "Come on, Pammy, will you lighten up?" and "Everyone's doin' it; just loosen up and try to have a little fun, will ya? You're embarrassing me in front of my friends," eventually got to her, so she'd participate in the occasional beer or two just to shut him up. She always returned home with guilt tattooed on her forehead.

As they grew older, the criticism came more about who she was as a person instead of what she would or wouldn't do. More often, it had become about her passions and what she wanted to do with her life. He frequently ridiculed her dreams of becoming an artist, teasing her about buying a paint by numbers set from the toy section of the store, and asking her when she was going to graduate from kindergarten. Now, she hid her easel and art supplies away, only bringing them out when he was gone.

Of course, there were other things about him that bothered her: He left his clothes on the floor next to the hamper, left dirty dishes in the sink or stacked on the counter, and left the toilet seat up (forgetting to flush it half the time). He drank obscene amounts of alcohol, was the most indecisive and indifferent man she'd ever encountered, and still refused to buy tampons for her when ( _if_ ) he made a trip to the grocery store for them ("C'mon, Pam! That's chick stuff!"). When they were out in public, he refused to ever hold her purse, but insisted that she put his wallet and keys inside.

All of a sudden, the list seemed to be a mile long.

Or, rather, it had always been a mile long. She just chose to fold it up and keep it buried. Now, for some reason, it was bothering her.

The second thing she noticed was the voice in the back of her head, which had been buried under a pile of "Roy's Terrible Habits." As she tried not to notice Roy, standing just inside the doorway, digging in his nose-he didn't even try to hide it in front of her anymore-that little voice was wondering aloud about what Jim would be up to at 11:30 on a Saturday morning.

Pam passed right by Roy, not in the mood to talk, and headed straight for the kitchen. Her midnight bowl of Rocky Road had worn off and she was in need of some sustenance. The sound of his padding feet alerted her to his presence as she melted butter in a skillet. She had a sudden craving for grilled cheese.

"So uhh, how was your night then?" Roy was standing on the side of the breakfast bar opposite her, hands in his pocket, head cocked to the side.

Keeping her focus on the bread and cheese that she was putting together, without throwing a passing glance over her shoulder, she replied, "Fine." But as she really thought about the the question that he had asked, she reflected on the previous night-or rather, the previous _morning_. A sly smile crept its way across her face. "It was fine. Great actually. I had fun being home alone. It was really nice."

"Oh. Well, good." Roy's expression was at first shocked, and then pleased, as he swung his legs over a barstool. _Not_ the same one that Jim had sat in just hours ago. Oddly, that pleased Pam.

"Judging by your current appearance," she said, gesturing at his misbuttoned shirt, "it looks like you guys had a pretty rowdy night."

She slid a plate of grilled cheese across the counter to Roy and stood opposite him, munching on her own sandwich. Unconsciously, she stood _next_ to the spot where she had stood earlier when she and Jim had shared their ice cream.

As he took a bite, he chuckled gaily. "God, we so did! I mean, we had each downed a good 12-pack each by about 11:30. It god _wild,_ Pammy. I'm almost sorry you missed it."

She caught his "almost" loud and clear, and her eyes drifted downward, focusing on the crust that she was now picking off of the sandwich.

"I'm glad you had fun though," he picked back up. "Alone time was good, huh?"

"Yeah, it was," she trailed off, reminding herself that she hadn't actually been "alone."

"Good, good," Roy began. "So...you wouldn't mind being alone for a little while longer today then? Kenny just got a new 4-wheeler and he wanted to do some work on it this afternoon. Would you mind?"

His eyes were pleading, but his tone said otherwise, like he knew he'd get his way regardless of her answer. And usually, he would. But today, Pam was annoyed. And Roy had just about pushed her over the edge.

Dropping her sandwich, to her plate, her eyes rolled, half lidded behind her glasses, as she spoke. "Seriously, Roy? You've been home for 5 minutes and you're already about to duck out again?" Her arms were crossed, head cocked to the side, as she observed his reaction.

She had never really done this before.

Stand up for herself, that is.

She was so surprised by her retort that she jumped back a little bit, tightening her arms a bit more. She almost apologized, but something inside her stopped the words in her throat as soon as her mouth opened.

"Well...I mean...c'mon, Pam, it'll only be a few hours. Besides, you just said you liked being alone!"

Most days, she would have given in, succumbed to whatever it was that Roy wanted to do. Part of her wanted to fight. But today, she just wanted to be alone.

"You know what, Roy? I don't have the energy to argue with you right now. Go. Have fun with Kenny. I have errands to run anyway."

She dropped her dishes into the sink, leaving his behind on the counter. She was in the shower, warm water streaming down her body, before Roy could even respond. The plan was to take as much time cleansing herself as it would for Roy to leave. Something about her just _didn't_ want to deal with him today.

As she worked the shampoo into a lather, she heard his booming voice through the door, over the water. "Hey, babe, you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'll see you later," she shouted back, wanting desperately for him to be gone.

"Okay. See you later. Love you!"

She heard his footsteps retreating before she could respond, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Her thoughts floated in and out as suds dripped down her back. She saw visions of Roy doing backflips on a 4-wheeler, herself painting on a terrace, Jim with his feet propped up on her coffee table, her head fitted perfectly into the crook of his arm.

Once again, she startled herself.

Why was Jim entering her thoughts all of a sudden? Sure, Jim was her best friend. Of course she loved spending time with him. But what was _this_?

As she toweled off and ran product through her damp curls, her emotions were swirling between conflicted and peaceful. Jim Halpert had been in her house last night.

Jim Halpert, her best friend, that guy with the goofy grin who she shared all of her joys and pains with, who had fixed her toilet, and shared a bowl of ice cream with her.

Jim Halpert, the man with whom she'd shared a questionable moment with on Lake Wallenpaupack just weeks prior, a moment that had left her questioning almost as much as she was now, had fallen asleep on her couch while they watched old Boy Meets World reruns last night.

And she'd fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder.

What in the _world_ was happening?

Although she had just stepped out of the shower into the chilled bathroom, her cheeks were suddenly brimming with warmth. She shook out the spinning thoughts, dressed, and gathered her things for a day out in Scranton. She hadn't lied to Roy-she truly did have errands to run-but the mundane tasks that she was setting off to complete were honestly just an excuse to get some fresh air.

Grabbing her purse and her keys, she ventured out into the cold February air.

She made it down the three aisles at Wegmans before he crept back into her consciousness.

Grape soda. _Jim_.

She hadn't even come down this aisle with a purpose.

Part of her was afraid, and part of her laughed. What in the _hell_ was her brain doing today?

It was just a _grape soda_! He drank them every day, for crying out loud!

So why was the stupid six-pack screaming at her from the the shelf?

Out of spite or frustration, she couldn't tell, but suddenly she was back in her car with nothing but the six-pack of grape soda in her trunk. She returned home, downed an entire can, and set to work on cleaning the house like she usually did during Saturday afternoons.

Without Roy there to distract her, Pam had gotten into a rhythm, with a load of laundry each in the washer and dryer, suds soaking in the shower, and the vacuum humming quietly as she jammed out to pop radio. Cleaning without Roy was _great_. Why hadn't she tried this before?

She saved the dishes for last, scrubbing burnt edges from her griddle and setting each dish carefully onto the drying rack. Suddenly, she was at the bottom of the sink, where two empty bowls were all that remained. She smiled, catching her reflection in the suds that filled the bowl. Jim always had a sandwich at lunch-ham and cheese to be exact. She had never really seen him work with a bowl and spoon before. She had never known that when he ate ice cream, he liked to swirl and mash it into the bowl first, making the entire bowl smooth rather than eating from the individual scoops. She found this quite endearing.

Especially since Roy tended literally eat his ice cream _by the scoop._

In fact, there were several things she had noticed about Jim that were in stark contrast to the way Roy behaved.

For one, Jim had fixed the toilet, while Roy enjoyed leaving it broken.

She rolled her eyes, stacking the last of the dishes in the drying rack before settling into her clean couch to enjoy her clean house.

Trashy television did little to keep her mind from wandering more.

Her body had taken its spot back on the middle cushion of the sofa. With the ghost of Jim's lanky frame to her right, her thoughts danced away again. When Jim perched on the couch, he didn't argue with her about what they were watching. Didn't roll his eyes when she wanted to choose the show. He even engaged in conversation, never once letting a hint of aggravation or annoyance fill their passing words.

With Roy, if she so much as _hinted_ that he change the channel during halftime, she wouldn't hear the end of it.

Roy never wanted to just sit and talk, even if it was during commercial breaks. Jim had given her his full attention. He had even given her _eye contact._

Roy's large, stocky frame was uncomfortable when he pulled her against him.

Jim's shoulder seemed to be made to cradle her head.

Her thoughts were shifted slightly by the sudden change in theme song. Boy Meets World echoed through her house and she was hit with a sudden wave of sadness. Jim should be here. He should he laughing along with her. What was he doing right now anyway?

She reached for her phone, then retracted. What was she doing? Jim couldn't come over. She was engaged to _Roy._

But wait, why did that matter? She could have friends. He was out with his brother. Why couldn't she have a friend over?

But wasn't she just thinking about how comfortable he was to sleep on?

Ugh! What was she _doing_?! Why was she so confused all of a sudden?

She didn't have time to think about it. The front door was opening. Roy was home. With a bouquet of flowers and a bag of Chinese take-out.

He still surprised her sometimes.

She smiled sheepishly. He shrugged, embracing her as he set his packages down on the breakfast bar, whispering, "I'm sorry you were so upset, Pammy. You know I love you."

"Yeah, I know," she replied, mind still mangled.

That night, instead of having wine with her dinner, she had a can of grape soda.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim was not about to let himself drown in overthinking again.

After the "Blues Cruise," he had lain awake night upon night, creating every possible, and every impossible, what-if scenario in his head:

What if he'd told her that he had feelings for her? She would probably tell him that she understood why that might happen, given their close bond as friends; explain that, in a different world where she wasn't engaged, it might have worked out; and tell him she hoped he wouldn't start acting weird around her, and they would still be the best of friends (possible). Or, she would express the feelings that she'd been keeping buried beneath her nonsense relationship to Roy that she only stayed in out of obligation. She was glad that he finally said something, because now she knew the feelings weren't one-sided. They would hop into one of the lifeboats and sail off into the moonlight (impossible).

What if he'd kissed her? She might lean in for a moment, politely place her hands on his chest, and crack a joke about him having one too many beers. He would apologize, agree, and tell her how boats must make people do crazy things (of course, there'd be a cheesy Titanic joke in there somewhere). They'd go back to the cabin, he'd watch her kiss Roy with far more than she'd put into his kiss, which had contained his every emotion, literally shattering his heart into a million pieces (possible). Or, she would jump, surprised at first, but after that initial shock, lean into his throes of passion, urging his lips apart with her tongue, moaning into his touch. She'd pull apart long enough to tell him how long she's been waiting for the feel of his body against hers, and demand that he make love to her on the deck of the boat right then and there (impossible).

What if he'd told her that he loved her? She might be scared. She might have conflicting emotions running across her face, brow furrowed, tears of confusion and frustration and guilt welling beneath her lids. She would tell him that she can't, that she's engaged, that they're best friends, and that his friendship means too much. He would fail at stopping tears of his own, knowing that there'd be no coming back from admitting that you love someone. He'd have to go, would have to leave her there on the boat confused and frustrated and feeling guilty, because to face her after that would literally rip him apart (possible). Or, those tears welling up in her eyes would be tears of relief, tears of joy, tears of hope. She'd tell him that his words echoed her every thought since they had met. She didn't know how to tell Roy. She thought that she was misinterpreting their friendship. But his words brought to life the emotions that had been welling up inside of her and assured her that they were meant to be together forever. They would march back into the cabin, hand in hand, and have Captain Jack marry them as captain of the ship (impossible).

Yup. He'd pretty much exhausted every single over-thought that existed. But he was _not_ going to fall victim to that again, especially when their moment on the boat was so much more insignificant than the moments they'd shared last Friday night.

He had been in her home. Seen her in her pajamas, no makeup on, hair pulled back, and those cute, retro glasses framing her face. She'd shared her doubts with him. Fallen asleep on his shoulder.

And, of course, he'd fixed her toilet. That had to count for something, right?

But if one moment with gazes locked over Lake Wallenpaupack could send him into overdrive, what was he going to get himself into by honing in on "what Friday night meant?"

It would take him nowhere but straight to his own personal hell, which is why distractions had become critical.

Jim Halpert had never worked as hard at his job as a paper salesman as he had in those five days. He'd actually landed two new accounts, and convinced 4 of his clients to renew _and_ increase their supply. He was ahead on his paperwork, and his desk had never been cleaner. As for after work, he had all but bullied Mark into having endless Madden tournaments every night until the early hours of the morning. When Mark would finally call it quits-something about "having to work early in the morning and needing sleep," whatever that meant-Jim would dive into the pile of crime novels that he picked up from the library. He figured that if he needed distractions, he'd at least make some of them educational.

Seeing her at work wasn't too bad. Her smile still filled him with warmth, but then he would be reminded of the grin she bore while they joked and shared ice cream. Her giggles still filled him with light, but then the Boy Meets World theme would resonate in his thoughts, and he would be transported back to her couch, their bodies close enough to touch. Suddenly, he was reaching up to loosen his necktie. Her closeness still makes him giddy with anticipation and hope, but without warning, she would brush past him the kitchen, and instantly her head is on his shoulder, her goosebumps close enough to touch, like braille letters that bare his soul, and he finds himself rushing out of the kitchen without even refilling his coffee cup.

He tried to make their interactions as normal as possible, but he knew that the tension was present. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. He didn't want her to feel as though they couldn't still have that special friend connection. Despite the love for her that poured from his very soul, he couldn't imagine her cutting him off completely. He would rather have their friendship than nothing. If loving her from a distance was painful, not having her in his life would most certainly kill him.

But he also knew that, at least for right now, he couldn't necessarily act as though she had no affect on him whatsoever. So while he normally dreaded the weekends, he was actually grateful when 5 o'clock on Friday evening rolled around.

He was already set up with plenty to keep his mind from missing her, and from reminiscing on what had transpired 7 days before: Friday night, Mark was hosting a poker night with some of his buddies from work, which would serve not only to fix his brain on something else, but would undoubtedly put a bit more spending cash in his pocket. Saturday was basketball in the morning, deep cleaning the house all afternoon (which was literally something neither he nor Mark _ever_ did), and catching dinner and a movie with his brother Tom in the evening. Sunday, he'd visit his parents. They knew better than to even mention Pam's name.

As he was leaving the office at 5:07 that evening, he noticed that Pam was still finishing up a few things at her desk. To put his own mind at ease, and because they were still friends, he stopped by to pick up a few jellybeans, and to inquire about her weekend whereabouts.

"It's Friday, Beesly. What are you still doin' here? Don't you have big weekend plans? Household appliances to destroy?"

She rolled her eyes, but offered him a smile.

"As a matter of fact, I _do_ have big weekend plans, and this time, none of them involve toilets."

"Oh?" He was suddenly regretting his decision to ask her about her weekend plans. He didn't want to know that she and Roy would be galavanting in the Poconos, or venturing to the city, or spending the entire weekend in bed. His hands shifted to his tie again, fussing with the noose that had suddenly wound itself tighter.

"Yeah, I mean, kind of. Not the most exciting weekend, honestly." Her eyes wandered as the words danced off her tongue, their beat unsteady as if she was stalling. "I think we're going to stay in and order takeout tonight, but then I get to spend the day with my mom tomorrow. She's going to come down and we're going to head to the mall and get our nails done and do lunch."

He noticed how her expression shifted as she spoke; she was quiet and avoiding as she spoke about Roy-not even mentioning his name; but when she spoke of her plans with her mom, she met his eyes, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. These small details did not go unnoticed.

"Sounds like the Beesly Weekend of Fun!" He grinned, almost too enthusiastically. "I expect you properly fun-gover on Monday. Sunglasses, coffee, mismatched shoes, the whole shebang. Nothing less."

She chuckled, her head falling as it cocked slightly.

One of her curls dropped across her eyes. It took everything in his power not to tuck it back into place.

"And what about you? I expect you've got a rousing weekend of fun activities planned?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, of course. Poker night, video games, dinner with the 'rents. Ya know, all of the typical things an eligible, single bachelor should be doing with his weekends."

The awkwardness was palpable as they met and broke eye contact several times, chuckling nervously for what seemed like more than the few seconds that it lasted. Eventually, they both reached for their coats, glad when Angela joined them in the elevator to stand as a silent mediator.

The trio remained speechless on the short elevator ride, said their goodbyes, and entered vehicles at separate ends of the parking lot.

Unbeknownst to them, Jim and Pam each let out a breath at the same moment that neither knew was being held in the first place.

After silently vowing to drink no more than two beers for the duration of the poker game, Jim had successfully tripled the amount of money he had started with. Mark's friends were decent at the game, but with liquid inhibitors coursing through them at an alarming rate, Jim's skills and keen eye for detail was playing well into his favor. As he debated the the different ways in which he was going to invest his money (Phillies/Mets tickets, a second TV and XBox so he and Mark didn't have to always play split screen, a time machine so he could go back to the deck of that boat and open up his goddamn mouth…) his eyes were pulled suddenly toward the clock. He didn't understand why until he noticed the time.

2:38 AM.

This time last week, she was falling asleep on his shoulder. This time last week, he felt the most at peace that he had ever been.

Suddenly, his left arm grew a little bit heavier.

Well, he certainly had tried.

* * *

Pam had honestly had a pretty great night.

Roy had surprised her when they got home from work, mentioning that he was going to take a week off from going out with the boys for their weekly Friday escapades and take her out to dinner. Sure, seafood wasn't her favorite, but it was the gesture that counted. She and Roy talked, joked, and actually laughed. Returning home, they cuddled up on the couch, and he even offered to let her pick the movie even though his game was on. She feigned exhaustion, telling him that she really appreciated his offer, but let him put the Duke game on. She was just glad to be spending time together. He thanked her, and she knew he was being genuine. She remained on the middle cushion, propped under Roy's strong arm, in his spot on the left side of the couch.

It felt off, but Pam couldn't, or _wouldn't_ , put her finger on why.

She thought he might try to coerce her into going back to the bedroom, but only the occasional soft kiss melted on the top of her head. He had heard her when she said she was tired. He had listened. He truly was a good guy.

They both fell asleep on the couch around 1 AM, Pam's head cradled in Roy's lap. But when she woke up at 2:38 AM, somehow, her body had completely shifted.

She was laying with her head in the lap of the right side cushion. Roy's touch was absent. She wouldn't admit it, but she was much more comfortable here.

* * *

Although Jim had experienced a minor hiccup in his night, he had been so exhausted from an entire week of avoidance tactics that as soon as their house was empty, he passed out before his face even hit the pillow.

Of course, he was awake bright and early at 7 AM, body drenched in cold sweat, from a nightmare he had been drowning in. He and Pam were on the deck of the boat. He had just admitted that he was in love with her. She was smiling, reaching for him, but then suddenly Cory Matthews was there, and the EPCOT fountain was in the middle of Lake Wallenpaupack. Cory and Pam were standing in the middle of the fountain, expressing their love for one another, while he and Topanga, and...Roy? What was Roy doing there?-stood watching.

"Aren't they perfect for each other?" Topanga gushed, her hands clasped together over her heart.

"I couldn't agree more." Roy was beaming. Jim was sweating, panicking. He hurled his body into the life boat and paddled as fast as his arms would carry him. But the harder he paddled, the farther away Pam and Cory seemed to be.

"Halpert, give it up, man. She ain't worth it!"

"You can't stop true love!"

Despite the echoing voices of Roy and Topanga (he still wasn't getting over that), he refused to give up. He _couldn't_ give up.

As they grew farther and farther from his boat, a dim light replaced Cory and Pam, growing brighter from the center on out. _She's coming back for me_. He slowed his rowing. Suddenly, over the top of the burning light, he made out a Sheriff's hat, and a pair of thick, square frames.

"Unauthorized vehicles will be removed from the water _immediately._ Sir, do you have a boating license?"

Dwight? What the hell was Dwight doing here?

"I can't leave yet! Pam-she's making a mistake! I have to stop her! I have to tell her I-"

"Sir, you're going to have to come with me."

"No, Dwight, I can't-"

He was peering around Dream Dwight, a glimpse of her honey-gold curls so bright in contrast to the dark, dream-night sky, when his alarm shook him from his suffocating hallucinations.

He threw on a pair of basketball shorts, a t-shirt, and a hoodie, brushed his teeth, and didn't bother with his hair. Gym bag in tow, he pulled out of the driveway, not even noticing the bitter cold nipping at his bare skin. He needed this basketball game more than he thought he would.

* * *

When Pam awoke, to the sound of a bowl clattering on the counter, it took her a moment to realize that she was still on the couch. Roy must have left her there in the early hours of the morning, not bothering to ask her to come to bed.

Oh well. It had been nice while it lasted.

She picked her head up off the right side cushion where she had lain all night, scratching her face as she peered behind her, over the back of the couch, squinting into the kitchen to see her fiance. He was already dressed in his gym clothes, no doubt getting ready for a few pickup games of basketball at the Y with his buddies.

"Sorry, babe, I didn't mean to wake you." He smiled, looking at her over the breakfast bar as he poured milk into his bowl of Frosted Flakes.

 _Wouldn't have woken me up if you would have asked me to go to bed last night._

She could only smile in return, her contentment, even joy from the night before, already wavering as she stood to rub her eyes. Realizing that she had fallen asleep with her contacts in, she rushed to the bathroom to flush out her eyes and don her glasses for the day. Not ideal, but she would only be seeing her mother after all.

After brushing her teeth, washing her face, and making her hair publically acceptable, she returned to the kitchen where Roy was drinking orange juice straight from the carton. She absolutely hated that. Sure, she shared bodily fluids with the guy when they kissed, but backwash was entirely different.

"Gonna have fun with your mom today?" he asked, capping the carton and replacing it in the refrigerator.

"Mhm, that's the plan." She took a seat at the breakfast bar. Plucking a banana from the bunch in the fruit bowl, she began peeling it meticulously, suddenly keen to avoid his eyes.

"So what do you two ladies have planned for the afternoon?" Suddenly, she felt a pang of remorse.

 _The poor guy is trying. Lighten up a little!_ She put down the banana, seeking the gaze of her fiance.

"I think we're going to start at the mall and do a little bit of shopping, then get a mani-pedi, and end with a late lunch. Nothing fancy." Recalling the plans that she had made with her mom that past week had her heart stirring with excitement. Living two hours away, she didn't see her mother as often as she would have liked to.

"Ah, so chick stuff. Good thing you've got your mom for that."

And with that, her mood soured, much like the milk that still sitting at the bottom of Roy's cereal bowl would when he left it in the bottom of the sink without rinsing it out first.

Pam's head dropped. Scowling, she munched her banana in 4 bites before depositing the peel in the trash can and stealing off to gather her things.

"Hey babe, the guys are wantin' to do a poker thing tonight after the games. You'll be with your mom anyway right?"

She heard his booming voice from the kitchen as she texted her mom to confirm their plans to meet at the mall. Her eyes finding the ceiling was becoming about as bad of a habit as a smoker's mid morning cigarette.

"Fine. Have fun," she called back. She could sense the annoyance burning the back of her throat more than Roy could hear its presence. He simply called back, "Thanks babe! Love you! Have fun with you mom!" and left with the bang of the front door.

* * *

Jim had really enjoyed his time on the court. Although his buddies were complimenting him on putting his all into their three-on-three's, he knew deep down that he wasn't necessarily as "in it to win it" as they suspected. The endorphins kept him happy, and focusing on dribbling, passing, and sinking three's was keeping his focus off of Pam. He thought he had seen Roy entering the gym on his way out, but he could have been mistaken.

The scent of bleach and cleaning supplies did enough to cleanse his mind for awhile, and he didn't think he'd ever seen their house more spotless than since the day he and Mark had signed the move-in paperwork. He ate lunch, leftover pizza from the night before, and read through a few more chapters in his book before his cell phone buzzed with a new text message.

 _Tom: Hey little bro! Gonna have to cancel tonight. Came down with the flu. I'll make it up to you!_

It was only 4 PM. That was at least 8 more hours until natural exhaustion would take over.

His heart was already palpitating with fear at the thought of having to fill those hours.

What was he going to do?

* * *

Spending time with her mom had been both a blessing and a curse.

While Pam was having a fun time trying on clothes, smelling all of the new scents at Yankee Candle, and making fun of all the new fashion trends (seriously-who decided chunky belts needed to go around the middle of your stomach all of a sudden?), the wedding talk was inevitable.

Luckily enough for Pam, her mother had waited until she was ankle deep in a footbath with literally no escape to bring up the subject.

"So, how are the wedding plans coming along, now that you and Roy have set a date?"

She avoided her mother's hopeful gaze, wishing desperately that she could pick at her nails that were newly manicured.

"Oh, you know, we're still talking things over."

"June really isn't that far away, Pammy. You two need to start getting serious about booking a venue! Isn't Roy helping out?"

Pam chewed at her bottom lip. Her parents loved Roy. After he had left her at that hockey game years ago, he made a huge declaration of regret on her parent's front lawn, vowing to always be there for her-and in her parent's eyes, he had done just that.

But they didn't see what went on behind the scenes. Or, rather, what Pam had just begun to notice was truly going on. She took a deep breath and decided to speak her truth.

"Honestly, mom? No, he really isn't. He picked the date, and now he thinks he's done." Suddenly, it was all flowing from her crackling heart like the mouth of a river. "Every time I bring up _anything_ wedding related, he walks away, or he whines, or he changes the subject. He keeps telling me that whatever I pick is fine, but when I _do_ choose something, he tells me he doesn't like it. Just the other day, I asked him if he wanted to go cake testing next weekend. He said he had plans with the guys and that all cake tastes the same. He doesn't even care! It's like he doesn't even want this wedding to happen, mom! What do I do?"

A few stray tears had fallen past her lashes while fresh ones brimmed, threatening to spill. Her mother was shocked, her expression small but worrisome.

"Oh, Pam, honey. It'll be okay. Weddings are stressful. You just need to sit down and talk with him. Roy loves you. I'm sure he's just stressed because you set a wedding on such short notice."

"Mom, we've been engaged for _three years_. How is that short notice?"

"Well." Helene Beesly was lost for words, grappling as her daughter begged for answers. "Sweetheart, Roy loves you. Trust me. You'll get through this."

At lunch, Pam felt the tension between her and her mother mounting. She longed for her mother to help her, to tell her what to do. But Helene had only left her with more questions. _Did_ Roy truly love her? Were they jumping into this too quickly? Did they need to push the date back?

Did they need to call things off altogether and take a break?

She was sitting on her couch, eating leftover pizza from Cugino's, when her phone buzzed. It was 11:20 PM.

 _Roy: Gonna stay the night. Hitting up the college game tomorrow morning. See you for dinner! Love u_

Closing out of her text messages, she clicked the phone option.

"Hey, Jim. I didn't wake you up, did I?"


	5. Chapter 5

Jim Halpert was the _king_ of distractions.

At work, he frequently did literally everything other than work; pranking Dwight, finding new ways to entertain his coworkers, consuming copious amounts of jelly beans as an excuse to talk to Pam…

But tonight, of all the nights of his life to be drawing a blank, he was in fact, drawing a blank in the world of distractions.

At _the worst_ possible moment.

He double and triple checked the message that he had received from his brother-just to be sure he had read it correctly-before he scrolled through every contact in his phone. Mark was taking his girlfriend to the city for the rest of the weekend. His buddies from college all lived out of town; his buddies from high school were all busy. His brother Pete lived too far away on short notice, although a 3 hour car ride didn't seem so bad in Jim's eyes. He hovered over the name _Dwight_ before realizing that he wasn't that pathetic. He was, however, pathetic enough to hit up his parents. They had tickets to the theater. He was on his own.

He was a shaken bottle of soda, ready to burst with nerves on end. Ideas bounced in his mind like ping pong balls. He could go to the bar! _And risk drinking myself into vivid memories of Pam? I'd rather call Dwight._ He could go to the movies! _Going to the movies by yourself isn't that bad. Until, of course, you realize that it's a Saturday night and you'll be surrounded by couples, or the leading female role is played by Pam's doppleganger and then you start to wish the theater floor would open up and swallow you whole._

Video games alone were boring, and he knew he would go stir crazy watching television. Faster than he could drop his dishes in the sink and throw on his coat, he was driving, with no destination in mind.

The town of Scranton wasn't _entirely_ boring. Eventually, he found himself padding aimlessly around the Steamtown Mall. Did he need anything from the mall? Probably not. Did staring intently at the rows and rows of Sixers jerseys and Phillies t-shirts, deciding which one would find a nice home on the bottom of his t-shirt drawer, make him feel better? Absolutely. After deciding that he _really_ needed a Ryan Howard shirsey, he grabbed a soft pretzel and continued wandering around the mall, his shopping bag in tow. Tossing his pretzel wrapper into a trash can, he realized that the mall would only be open until 9, and the panic began to set back in.

Suddenly, there were couples _everywhere_. A man holding his girlfriend's purse as she browsed the sales racks. Two young lovers sharing a milkshake in the food court. An older couple holding hands as they wandered, basking in each other's company more than actually caring to shop. He _had_ to get out of there.

And just like that, he was driving again. Night came quickly in the winter months, and as early evening turned late, he struggled to find someplace in town that was open without being a bar or a 24-hour convenience store. And then, the neon pulled him in.

He hadn't been to an arcade since he was a freshman in college, but the front door said it was open until 10, and he had pulled in a ton of commission that week. In short, he had extra cash to burn, and he was _absolutely_ ready to spend it on whacking moles, eating ghosts, and rolling balls up a ramp. He purchased the token special (100 tokens for only $20!) and took up shop at a Skee-Ball ramp. About 6 plays in, he realized that a crowd of 10-year-old boys, presumably attending a birthday party, were cheering him on as he sank 100 after 100. He smirked, and then questioned the fact that he was now seeking the approval of juveniles.

Three hours, 300 tokens, two laser tag games (those kids were cute, and he definitely had more fun than he wanted to admit to), and 4 jackpots later, he was one of three patrons left in the arcade that had now begun to close down. He felt bad, being "that guy" as the teenaged employees began their closing duties, and he was still staring at the endless prize options. He did, after all, have over three-thousand tickets. He could be there forever, honestly. And god, did he wish he could be.

Eventually, he chose more candy than seemed necessary, some army men for his nephews, and a bottle of disappearing ink (this would _definitely_ come in handy on Monday).

"On second thought, make that _two_ bottles of disappearing ink." The pimple-faced kid rolled his eyes, took more of Jim's tickets, and slid another small, white bottle across the glass counter. Pam would like one. What was the harm in having a work stash? He folded his tickets into neat rows to stuff into the brown paper lunch bag with the rest of his arcade haul and headed back out into the bitter, Pennsylvania cold.

He was home by 10:12 PM, and thanks to the bag of candy, was still wide awake. Desperation careened down on him like a fighter jet. Before he even realized what he was truly doing, he was dressed in fresh sweats, his gym shoes, and a Sixers knit beanie.

Jim Halpert was not a runner.

But Jim Halpert _was_ desperate to keep Pam Beesly out of his head.

His plan was working out incredibly well: His focus was consumed by 1) Keeping a steady pace, breathing, and watching where he was going, and 2) The fact that his balls were literally frozen.

 _I am a genius. Why didn't I think of this years ago?_

Until his cell phone rang. 11:22 on a Saturday night, and his cell phone was ringing.

He stopped dead in his tracks, heart pounding, realizing that he both wished for and wished against it being Pam. He wanted to hear her voice. He didn't know if he'd be able to _handle_ hearing her voice.

The name _Pam_ lighting up the tiny screen sent his heart straight to his throat. Suddenly, the bitter chill that surrounded him disappeared. His palms ran damp with sweat, and his cheeks were hot. As he began to speak, the air around him turned white.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jim. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

She sounded calm. Calmer than last weekend, anyway.

"No, never, Beesly. Didn't I mention my nocturnal habits last weekend?"

Her giggle eliminated the frozen feeling in his toes. He gazed up at the stars above him, wondering if she was staring out her window, too.

"You may have mentioned something like that."

Her voice trailed off, and he could hear the echoes of her television in the background.

"Sooo, what's up? Got another midnight plumbing expedition you need me to go on?"

"No, not quite…" He could sense the hesitation in her voice. Before his thoughts could wander in every which direction, begging the question as to why she had called, he heard her voice-now more confident-return. "Jim, where are you? It sounds like you're outside."

He hadn't even realized that the wind around him had picked up. She must've been getting feedback on her end.

"Uhh, I _am_ outside, actually."

"Oh. Leaving the bar or something?"

"Well, not quite." Was it just him, or did she seem to pull back with her question? Her voice had softened, hadn't it? No, he was _totally_ overthinking. "I'm kind of on a run right now. Or, well, wrapping up a run. Gettin' kinda cold out, now that I'm standing in the middle of the sidewalk not moving."

With that realization, he began walking back to his house. Luckily, he had only been circling the neighborhood, after the thought process of _I wonder what kind of people are on the streets at this hour_ talked him out of going on any trails.

"Jim Halpert _runs_?!" He laughed at the genuine shock in her voice. _Don't worry, Beesly, I'm just as shocked as you are._

"Correction Beesly: Jim Halpert _pretends_ to run. Jim Halpert made a New Year's resolution to stay in shape and then picked literally the worst time to start making good on that promise."

Her giggles trailed off as he approached his block, fumbling for the keys with frozen fingers.

"So Beesly, to what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you had some big weekend of fun planned. Wasn't tonight dinner and shopping with your mom?"

"It was, yeah, but she went home hours ago. I've got the house to myself until sometime tomorrow night."

She didn't mention why, but he could hear it in the way that her tone had shifted. Roy was out with the boys. Had already planned to spend the night wherever he was at. Was she too embarrassed to tell him? Ashamed? Whatever the reasoning, his brain was already in Pam-mode, and wasn't giving it a passing glance.

"Well hey, having the house to yourself isn't so bad," he chirped, sliding off his shoes and throwing his beanie to the floor. "You can pick any channel you want, pig out on all the junk food in the house, and dance around in your underwear. Think of the freedom!"

"I see where your argument could be valid, but right now, it's not. Because I'm bored."

He could hear her pout through the radio waves. He wondered momentarily if the pout was because she was bored, or because she had to get her fiance out of the house to have some freedom. Before he could decide, her whisper was at his ear again.

"Do you want to come over and hang out?"

He knew what his answer should be. He _should_ have said no. He _should_ have continued taking off his running attire and changed into pajamas. He _should_ have encouraged her to try getting some sleep. It was late. Her body would thank her in the morning.

But all of this was entirely contrary to what his body was in fact doing, which was pulling on a new t-shirt, furiously rubbing deodorant-everywhere, slipping back into his shoes, pocketing a bottle of disappearing ink, and driving across town.


	6. Chapter 6

This time, she was wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants-green, pink, and purple-and a grey Valley View hoodie. Her hair was up. Her glasses were on. His heart was finally at peace, and the smile stretching across his lips resonated that truth.

She welcomed him in quickly out of the cold, and they stood in the front entrance as he removed his shoes.

"So, I have to know: what the hell possessed you to go on a run-not only at eleven o'clock on a Saturday night-but in this cold ass weather?"

Jim chuckled. He wasn't used to hearing Pam curse, but every time he did, the Pam-centric part of his brain (the part that he sometimes wanted to beat with a hammer) saw that as a glimpse into her life that not everyone got to see. She was opening up to him, inviting him to see her true self.

 _Or, she's just referencing the fact that you're a dumbass for going on a run in 9 degree weather. She ain't wrong, Halpert._

"Honestly, Pam? I have no idea what possessed me," he began with a nervous chuckle. "I think I was just going stir crazy and couldn't fall asleep. Figured a little midnight workout might help my cause."

"And did it work?"

"Well Beesly, I'm standing in your living room wide awake. What do you think?"

She returned his sly smile with a sheepish grin of her own before turning towards the kitchen.

"We'd better warm you up then!" she called over her shoulder.

While his eyes observed her pulling two mugs from a cabinet, his brain was imaging several other activities that they could do together to "warm him up." The thought of heading back outside for another quick jog around the block was suddenly very insistent.

"Do you like your hot chocolate made with milk or water?" she asked, pausing at her open refrigerator.

"Is that even a question?" He folded his arms and cocked his eyebrow teasingly. "Anyone who makes their hot chocolate with water over milk is a _caveman_."

She shook her head, cackled more than he'd expected her to, and plucked the milk carton from her refrigerator door.

"Well, I guess I'd better start calling Roy "Fred Flintstone" then."

He always tensed at Roy's name. But knowing he'd just inadvertently given him a nickname-although a negative one-suddenly nauseated him.

"Oh my god, _Beesly_ , don't _tell me_ you're marrying into a family that drinks hot chocolate water!" he began, striding over to claim his stool at the breakfast bar.

"I know, I know. It's so _weird_ ," she agreed, pulling the milk-filled mugs from the microwave. "The consistency is _wrong_ , the flavor's all _wrong_. It's like, why would you settle for something mediocre and bland when there's such a _better alternative right there in front of you_!"

The irony was _screaming_ at him as he stared into the powder-clad milk, twirling his spoon nervously, watching the solution blend together. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to regain his composure.

"Ha, yeah, you're exactly right."

"Do you like whipped cream, or marshmallows?"

"Uhm, both, obviously," he answered her seriously. She laughed, and greatly obliged, plopping in several marshmallows before squirting a heaping helping of whipped cream on top of his mug.

With their beverages in hand, she headed into the living room, not even beckoning for him to follow. It was expected. And he immediately followed her, pushing the thought of "lost puppy" from his mind as he reclaimed his spot on the right side of the couch. She sat next to him with her feet tucked underneath, her body facing him more so than the television. They set their mugs on the coffee table to cool. His tension quelled more easily than it had the last time, and he found his eyes drawn right away to the coffee table. Her sketchbook lay open, with several assorted pens and pencils scattered around it. Without hesitation, he picked it up.

"Do you mind?" he questioned. Art was personal. He knew that. But Pam had always been so open with him about her drawings and paintings. The immediate shake of the head and, "No, go ahead," prompted him to lay eyes on her work in progress.

To the casual observer, it was a simple winter scene: a quiet house on a quiet street blanketed by snow. But to Jim, the little things jumped out at him first. The snow was undisturbed, save for one spot of the lawn where footsteps led to a driveway. The tire tracks went down the street to the left, then off the page. There was a dim light on in the front window, presumably from a television, not a lamp. One of the lights on the garage was burnt out; his first thought was that she hadn't yet finished, but he also knew that everything in her art was done with intention. The owners of the home had obviously been too lazy to change it.

After giving himself a few moments to truly observe her work, he glanced at her waiting expression, lip pulled nervously between her teeth.

"Pam, this is _awesome_. I love all of the little details. Seriously, you've _got_ to get your stuff out to more people."

She let out a breath ( _why had she been holding her breath? Was she nervous about what he'd say? Knock it off, Halpert!_ ), and grinned a large, toothy grin. Out of all of her pieces of art, that smile was truly his favorite.

"You really think so?"

"Mhm, absolutely. Pam, this is really, really awesome. I mean, your art tells stories. Look, there's someone's footprints leaving, the lights are still on; you could interpret _so much_ from this one."

She was chewing her lip again. Wasn't responding. Instead, she was staring from the drawing back to Jim and back to the drawing again.

"I'm sorry," he began. "Did, did I say something wrong? I'm totally looking at this wrong, aren't I? See, this is why I don't go to art museums-"

"Jim, it's okay." Suddenly, an embarrassed smile was twisting onto her lips. "I just...no one has ever taken the time to look at the details of my art. Most people would've seen a house, but you...god you actually _see it._ "

He felt proud. Sad, but proud. He felt sad for her, that her talent didn't get to shine as much as it should. He felt sad that, while she acknowledged that he "saw" his art, she didn't truly realize how much of her he _saw_.

He felt proud of her for taking the risks that she did.

He also felt proud of himself for understanding art.

"Glad to be of service, Beesly." He bowed, or, bowed as much as he could in a sitting position. "If you ever need someone to interpret your art, give me a call anytime, day or night, rain or shine."

The words left his mouth before he was able to realize the invitation that he had just handed her. If she called, he would answer. Without question. But that was _not_ going to help him in his quest to fall out of love with her. She laughed at his retort, but he would've bet his entire year's salary on the fact that she wasn't laughing for the same reasons that he was.

"So, how much does a lesson from the Beesly School of Art run these days? I think it's about time I graduated from exclusively drawing stick figures."

"You want a drawing lesson? Really?" Her eyes lit up, seeming to shine behind her frames.

"Absolutely. Lay it on me, Beesly. I am more than willing to pay you in jelly beans."

She giggled, grabbing a few pens from the coffee table and sliding closer to Jim.

"The first lesson's free, but after that, I'm gonna have to start charging you. In the form of food, of course."

He returned with a smile as she turned to a fresh page in her sketchbook.

Now, she was sitting cross-legged, her right knee practically overlapping his thigh. Wanting, _needing_ to calm his nerves, he grabbed his mug of hot chocolate. He no longer needed it for the warmth, but it did give his mind something else to focus on-now the scalding sensation on the roof of his mouth-rather than how good it felt to have her so near.

"Now, before we even start, you need to answer one _very_ important question for me: pencil or ink?"

She was facing him now, a drawing pen in one hand and a pencil in the other. Her head was cocked to the side, and her eyebrow went with it. She was trying to be serious, she truly was. But in Jim's head, she was a picture of adorable.

 _Stop it! Stop that_ right now _or I'll turn this car around and you will go home, mister!_

It was then, rethinking her question and observing the choices that were displayed for him, that he realized the opportunity that sat in his pocket.

"Definitely ink. I get too smudgy when I try to draw with pencils."

"A wise choice, Young Halpert." She handed him the pen, their fingers brushing briefly during the exchange. He wondered if he would have a burn mark in the morning where her fingers had trailed across his hand.

She shifted the sketchbook so that it was laying open in her lap, but also situated partially onto his thigh so that he could see what she was doing. It was so intimate, yet so natural. Surely, she was feeling as pulsed with electricity as he was?

As she began her lesson, ink creating vivid lines on a blank canvas, he recalled his plan, and reached into his pocket, making sure to obscure the small bottle from her sight.

"Now, we're gonna start with your basic tree. The trick to drawing, honestly, is to not think too much about it. If you to focus too much on being perfect, you're going to drive yourself _insane_. Just go with what feels natural."

He watched her hands as they delicately sketched the rough outline of a tree trunk, ink seeming to create a story of images on the paper. It was a just a tree, but to him, it seemed like so much more. What had begun as just a basic shape, something that could've been traced, eventually sprang to life, details seeming to have emerged from thin air. With different thicknesses and line strokes, leaves and branches and gaps of light where the invisible sun shone through appeared. It was like watching a magic show-but not one of Michael's magic shows, where the tricks were corny and often ended in failure. He was watching something appear from nothing from the hands of Pam. He would have sat there watching her draw trees forever.

But suddenly, she was shifting the sketchbook farther onto his lap, urging him to begin with the basic shape as she had done. His fingers fumbled at first, but eventually he had the basic outline of a tree drawn. It resembled some of the drawings that Toby had hung up in his cubicle from his 5 year old daughter. But then again, so did Pam's piece, to begin. But she had added life, and that was what he was going to set out to do.

After, of course, he had a little bit of fun first. He made some offhanded comment about being embarrassed, not wanting her to watch his process, and easily uncapped the bottle. As he added small strokes to "create the illusion of leaves," just as she had shown him, he let it loose. Making it seem as though the pen was exploding, he squirted a large stain of disappearing ink right at her sweatshirt.

"Oh _SHIT!_ Pam, I'm so sorry! I must have been pushing too hard." He feigned innocence fairly well, perfecting his craft over the year. If Pam's art medium was drawing, his was _definitely_ painting his face with faux emotions.

She jumped back at the sudden onslaught of wetness, her eyes popping, mouth dropping, a tiny squeal escaping her lips.

"No, it's okay, really. I'm just gonna go blot this before a stain sets in."

He didn't dare chuckle until after she had left, but as he was reacting to the success of his prank, his laughter suddenly caught in his throat. For the very first time, he was alone in her living room. He only had a few moments to truly take it all in, and he absorbed just as much as his mind would take in.

Aside from the sketchbook, he saw no traces of her art anywhere. No Pam originals on the walls, no easel by the window like he had always imagined. Not even a box of crayons on the bookshelf. As his eyes wandered more, he began to wonder why.

The movie collection was about half macho dude movies (obviously Roy's), mixed with equal parts romantic comedies and cult classic films. He recognized several copies that he owned as well, and decided for his own well-being that the shared titles were all Pam's. There were several framed photos on display: many of Pam and her parents, Pam and her sister, Roy and his brother, Roy and his friends. Only one frame housed a photo of the couple together. It appeared to be a picture taken at a high school prom. Pam's hair had a little bit more volume than it did now, but her smile was the same. She and Roy were in one of those phony prom poses, and although he looked entirely uncomfortable, she seemed to be having the time of her life.

As he wondered what it would've been like to know Pam at that age, he heard her footsteps coming down the hallway towards him.

"I don't know how you did it, Halpert. I honestly don't know how you did it." The grin on her face was paired with eyebrows that reached her bangs. Jim could only cross his arms in victory, the smug smile only serving to fuel her eyeroll.

"I have _no idea_ what you're talking about. You might want to call the company that makes these faulty pens. I wouldn't want any of your drawings getting ruined here, Beesly."

She sat back down on the couch, still wearing the now unstained hoodie, and grabbed for the hand that still clutched the bottle of disappearing ink. It was incredibly easy for her to pry the bottle from his clutches, for as soon as her hands were-deliberately-on his own, his jaw dropped slightly, and all control of his body was lost to her touch.

Thank _god_ she hadn't noticed.

It took her words to shake him from the trance that his body had succumbed to.

"Where did you _get_ this?" She was holding up the bottle for him to see, which he was grateful for; without the visual aid, he would probably still be lost in his thoughts.

"Won it at the arcade. Best hundred and fifty tickets I've ever spent. Well, three hundred, technically. I actually got two bottles. This one's actually for you. I thought it might come in handy at work."

He offered her a sheepish grin, and after she had realized that the weapon was a gift, she smiled, settling back down into her drawing position on the couch.

"Thanks, Jim. We're going to have a lot of fun with this." She set the bottle carefully in front of her on the coffee table, replacing it in her hands with the mug of forgotten cocoa. She sipped as he continued working on his tree. It was nowhere near as perfectly imperfect as hers, but that didn't matter to Jim. The two trees side by side on the paper represented them. One was tall and awkward. One was shorter, full of life.

"Not bad for your first try. We'll keep practicing. You'll be Bob Ross quality before you know it!"

We'll keep practicing. What in the hell did thatmean?

"You're only missing one thing: sign that bad boy."

He chuckled. "Sign it? For _what_?"

"It's the first Jim Halpert original! You have to sign it so that, when you're a famous tree drawer, I can sell it for big bucks on eBay."

She was trying her hardest to stay serious, but just as Jim was an ameture artist, Pam was an ameture bluffer.

"Alright, but I'll only sign my side if you sign your side."

"Deal."

After both signatures were penned, she carefully tore the page out of her sketchbook, then down the middle. She handed her half to Jim, and kept his neatly inside the front cover of her sketchbook.

"Hey now, what's this?" he questioned.

"I told you: this is going to make big bucks one day. Consider it your lesson payment."

He scoffed at her, shaking his head as he reached for his hot chocolate, that had officially become the perfect drinking temperature.

After a couple minutes of comfortable silence, both of them paying half their attention to what was on TV, Pam spoke.

"Wait, when did you go to the arcade?"

Nervously, Jim rubbed the back of his neck and took a long swig from his mug.

"Uhh, tonight, actually. Right before I went on that run."

"Oh." Her voice went tiny again. He hated that he noticed these things about her. Was she wondering who he was with? Was she upset that she hadn't been invited?

"Weekend out with the boys?" she asked. He could sense the hesitation in her voice.

"No, not really. I, uh, I kind of actually went by myself." He paused. "I know. I sound like a total loser. You can go ahead and tell me."

"You're the farthest thing from a loser, Jim," she began, taking a drink from her mug. "So what games did you play?"

The hesitation in her voice faded, bringing with it a heightened volume. She was always quieter when she was unsure. Why did she suddenly have more confidence?

"Well, Pam, I don't know if you're aware of this, but you are currently sharing a couch with Scranton's very own Skee-Ball master."

"Really?"

"Really, really, Beesly. I'm pretty sure I became the hero of more than one ten-year-old kid tonight. I reset the high score on every machine in that place."

She giggled, taking another drink from her mug.

"See, when you talk like that, you kind of get your 'loser' title back."

He was about to come back with a clever quip, _any_ clever line, but the words caught in his throat.

Her face was partially hidden behind her mug, head cocked to the side, smile wide with laughter. Her bangs had fallen so that they rested on top of her glasses, just enough to probably be a little bit annoying. If he knew her well enough-which he did-she'd brush them back in the next sixty seconds. A smudge of whipped cream crinkled with her nose as she laughed.

"At least I don't have whipped cream on my nose."

 _That's it? That's your comeback?! She's right, dude. You definitely earned that "loser" status tonight._

But as soon as the words rolled off his tongue, she was blushing in that mixture between shy and embarrassed. Her fingers flung to her nose, wiping furiously, but in the process, she had smeared some to her cheek. Without thinking-or maybe thinking with courage, finally?-he brought his thumb to the side of her face, a whispered, "Here, lemme help you with that," somehow forming on his lips.

It was quick, he was gentle, and yet somehow, their eyes seemed locked for an eternity. Her lips had parted slightly, and-had she leaned into his touch? No, _of course_ she hadn't.

But just like that, the moment was gone.

 _Shit shit shit SHIT, I am_ DONE, _I am so DEAD._ The thoughts raced through his brain and ran laps across his face. But she was calm, if not, a little flustered. She returned a shy smile, a whispered, "Thanks," and then offered to take their mugs to the kitchen sink.

He was preparing himself for the worst, preparing to be asked to leave, and walk out her front door like a puppy that had just peed on the carpet and had to sleep outside. That image was shattered as soon as she returned with a bowl of popcorn.

"Midnight snack?"

She sat down next to him, farther away this time, as the bowl of popcorn took up residence between them. He couldn't say that he wasn't a bit disappointed, but as they began to reach for popcorn, he suddenly realized that their hands would be mingling in the bowl, and he was oddly okay with the arrangement.

"Weren't you supposed to be hanging out with your brother tonight?" she questioned, eyes remaining on the TV.

"Yeah, I was, but he got sick. Came down with the flu or something. I'll catch up with him some other time. How was hanging out with your mom, by the way?"

"It was fun. It was definitely nice to see her."

"Oh yeah? Did you ladies get a lot of shopping done?"

"It was more browsing than shopping," she laughed.

"Well, at least you got a manicure out of the deal."

She turned to face him, faux shock painting lines on her face.

"What?" he chuckled. "Your nails look nice. You usually have them in such neutral colors; the sparkles are a fun change of pace."

She pulled her hands out of the bowl of popcorn and examined the manicure that she'd gotten earlier. He was right. She typically painted her own nails, and she was running out of boring shades of pink. This time, she'd gone for a lavender, with an accent of gold sparkles on each of her ring fingers. She didn't think anyone would take note. But Jim had.

"Well, thank you, Jim." Her warm smile was all the thanks he needed.

Midnight began the 2 hours of Boy Meets World, and the marathon picked up where they had left off. Popcorn was munched on as Cory and Eric finished their road trip. Eventually, the bowl was empty, and Jim found himself saddened at the fact that her touch would once again be absent. During the last commercial break, Pam brought the bowl into the kitchen, and returned to her spot, taking up the space where the empty bowl had just been. As the next episode began, she turned to face Jim.

"Hey, do you mind if I sketch a little while we watch?"

"No, not at all."

The only problem was that, rather than paying attention to the fact that Topanga had just chopped off her hair in protest, he felt himself leaning as far back on the couch as he could get to watch Pam. With the only light sources being the glow of the television from the front and the soft lights of the kitchen from behind, her images were a mystery to him. He settled for the comfort of hearing lines added to the page.

Another episode concluded, and he finally gathered the courage to ask her the question that had been bugging him all night.

"So, I couldn't help but notice that like, _none_ of your art is hanging on the walls. What's up with that?"

There was a long moment of silence, a deep breath, and deliberate cease to her drawing before she answered.

"Honestly, Jim? Roy isn't really the biggest cheerleader when it comes to my artwork."

She trailed off, seeming to sink into the couch a little bit lower, her eyes wandering to look at no particular spot on the carpet.

"If I even _mention_ the thought of taking an art class, he gets all, I don't know, _huffy_ about it. He says it's a waste of time and money. He thinks it's just a hobby. So I've found it a lot easier to just keep my stuff put away. Less arguments that way, I guess."

He truly wanted to cry at that moment. Not for himself, or his hurt feelings. But for _her_. In that moment, he didn't care that she wasn't with him, or that she didn't reciprocate his feelings. His heart was broken that the man she was engaged to be married to would put her down so easily, so frequently, that she felt ashamed to even share her dreams with him.

"Are you serious? Pam, that's _awful_. I...god, Beesly, I'm so sorry."

He wanted to hug her, but he knew that would be inappropriate. Or would it?

She had hugged him last weekend, hadn't she? Sure, it was a _goodbye_ hug, a _thank you_ hug. But this? This was so much more important.

He scooted closer to her, wrapping his arms around a body that he didn't think could get any smaller, but somehow, in those last few moments, had. And when she immediately cradled into his chest, he felt his world brighten once again. This was where she belonged. It just felt _right._

They remained like that for what was, in Jim's eyes, far too short. When she pulled back, her eyes were puffy. He hadn't felt tears soak the front of his shirt. She must have been holding them back.

"If it's any consolation, I hope you never stop chasing after this, Pam. You're too good to give up. Don't let him take this away from you."

She could only offer a small smile and nod in return.

They turned their attention back to face the TV. Was she sitting closer? No, of course she's not. But her arm was not _there_ before. Will you just shut up and watch Boy Meets World?!

Pam continued to sketch, and they exchanged laughs and offhanded comments about Cory's overreaction to Alan quitting his job. At two o'clock, with strange cartoons looming, they were both still wide awake, neither quite wanting to end what they had going on. It was Jim's boldness that brought him into the kitchen.

"Damn, Halpert, after all that and you're _still_ hungry?"

Pam joined him, arms crossed, head cocked, waiting for him to raid her fridge.

"Oh, on the contrary, Beesly. I am simply being a nice house guest."

And with that, the sink was filling with suds, and Jim Halpert's hands were cleansing the dishes that they had used. She joined him, towel drying the two mugs, the spoons, and the popcorn bowl. As she put the last dish away, she turned to him.

"You didn't have to do that, ya know."

"Oh, trust me, I know I didn't _have_ to, but after you _slaved_ over a _hot microwave_ for me, it was the least I could do."

Her giggle brought a smug smile to his own face, and they both shuffled to the kitchen, neither really wanting to admit that he should probably get going.

"So, you get to hang out with your parents tomorrow, right?" she started, after a silence that had lasted too long.

"Yup, bright and early for church and Sunday brunch. Actually, if I want to _not_ be a zombie all day, I should probably get going."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Her eyes found the floor, although she wasn't sure why.

"As always, thanks for the invite, Beesly. You saved me from a night of boredom."

"Anytime, Jim. Anytime."

He wanted to lean in for a hug, but knew he shouldn't. Instead, he grabbed his beanie, gave her a half smile and a half wave, and scooted out the door. He was just about to throw his car in reverse when she came running out the door in only slippers, waving something above her head.

"JIM!"

She was at his window faster than he could unbuckle his seatbelt.

"You almost forgot your picture."

Her fingers hovered inside his warming car, clutching the tree drawing that she had sketched earlier.

He thanked her, and they stood silent, staring at each other, cold, white breath intermingling over the barrier to his car. Suddenly, she was cold, and it was late, and he was reluctantly pulling away.

Before he went to bed that night, he found an empty picture frame and properly displayed the Beesly Tree on his bedside table.


	7. Chapter 7

It was 4:37 AM, and Pam Beesly was wide awake.

She had _been_ wide awake since watching Jim's car disappear into the the dark horizon.

Roy wasn't coming home, and she honestly hadn't given him a second thought.

When Jim had left, she had given a thorough effort to falling asleep. It was, after all, two in the morning. Not that she had anywhere to be in the morning.

Not that Roy would be home until late afternoon, anyway.

But after a solid hour of tossing and turning, she trudged back to the living room and popped on a random television channel. Pulling her feet up on the couch so that her knees could act as a table, she grabbed her sketchbook. Maybe finishing one of the pictures she had started earlier would stop the thoughts that were swimming around in her head.

As she added lines and shades and little bits of color, she realized that _nothing_ could untangle the web that had been spinning since Jim had walked through her front door.

She was bored, so she called her friend. There was nothing wrong with that, was there?

Of course, he was a _guy_. And her fiance wasn't home. And it was the middle of the night. And he had left at almost three o'clock in the morning _for the second weekend in a row._

Why did she feel such a welling of guilt in her stomach all of a sudden?

It was _guilt,_ wasn't it?

She set her sketchbook down and picked up the bottle of disappearing ink, smiling as she cradled the small bottle in her hands. Her smile faded, and she got up, headed to the front door, and tucked the bottle safely into her purse.

Was she putting it in her purse to make sure it got to work safely, or to stop Roy from questioning her?

God, _why_ was she even _having_ these thoughts?!

She was marrying _Roy_. She was in love with _Roy_.

Wasn't she?

Plopping back to the couch in defeat, her mind wandered back to the conversation with her mother from earlier in the day.

She and Roy were just going through a rough patch. They would get through this. They would plan their wedding, get married, and live a happy life together.

But _would they_?

The more she thought about this "rough patch," the more she realized that the "patch" had been more like a gaping hole that had seemed to be ripping wide open since they had started dating.

Suddenly, her mind was drifting into the scrapbook of Pam and Roy. It began at a minor league hockey game. Never again would she cheer for the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton Penguins. Sure, Roy had apologized, but what had come of that? He never really "asked her out." It was more of a "so you're my girlfriend now, right? I can tell my friends that?" and she just sort of went along with it. Naive, 17 year old Pam had fallen into his trap and never escaped.

It was his idea for her to apply at Dunder Mifflin. They would see each other more, he had said. It was a way for them to "spend more time together."

And naive, 20 year old Pam had gone along with it. She had grown up only knowing, only _loving_ Roy. When he proposed, it seemed like the right thing to do. They were high school sweethearts, right? They went to prom together, took graduation photos together, they worked together. Marriage was the next logical step. It hadn't even been that big of a deal. They were sitting in the basement of his parent's house, watching TV, when he had turned to her-eyes still on the television-and said, "Hey, so, you wanna get married?" And she had said yes. Immediately after, he had pumped his fists, shouted, "All right!" and gone out for a celebratory beer with the boys, leaving Pam alone in the Anderson's basement.

As her young adulthood flashed before her eyes, she felt tears suddenly stinging, which made her angry. She shouldn't be _crying_ over spilt milk, she should be cleaning it up! But what did that even _mean_?

She couldn't just call off the wedding, could she? She still loved him. She still _lived_ with him. They had set a date. They had...well, they had some things planned. He knew her better than anyone. Why was she even having these thoughts in the first place?

Why had the thought of _calling off her wedding_ even crossed her mind? She couldn't do that- _wouldn't_ do that. You didn't get engaged just to throw it all away. If you got engaged, you married that person. Her person was Roy. Her person had been _Roy_ for years now. Although, the more time she had to think, the more she realized that she had never given herself the opportunity to find a different person. But that was because she was _lucky!_ She had found her guy before they hit the real world! They got to experience all of that hard, "real life stuff" together! Going to college, buying Roy's first truck, signing the lease to their first house, getting their first adult jobs-she had literally _grown up_ right alongside him. What more was she looking for?

As she brought her fingers up to wipe away the tears, the sparkle of her manicure caught her eye.

 _Jim._

He had complimented her manicure earlier tonight. And, not only had he _complimented_ her, but he had even taken notice of what her nails normally looked like. He had made a comparison. Not once, in the years that she had been with Roy, had he ever said _anything_ about her nails. Well, he had made a comment once about how he liked it when she left nail marks on his back, but that didn't count.

Jim.

Her friend, Jim.

Why was it so important that he noticed her nails?

As 5:30 drew nearer, and darknesses blended in with a sun that was fighting to stay asleep, she pushed the thoughts from her mind.

Jim had noticed her nail polish-so what? Kelly probably would on Monday, too.

Eventually, her exhaustion won the fight that her brain and her body had been having. As she gathered her art supplies to stow in their secret spot in the back of her closet, she found herself drawn back to the couch rather than to her bedroom. She pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch and wrapped herself into a cocoon. The right side of the couch cradled her head as she fell asleep.

Roy returned home around 4 PM the next day. They had a late dinner; he was still full from the concessions at the game. Pam gathered the dishes to begin washing. As the suds filled up the plugged sink, she noticed that Roy had flung himself onto the couch. And then she realized that this was normal. She'd been letting him get away with it for years.

His excuses were cyclical with his moods: "I'm tired," "I had a long day at work," "You just do it so much better than I do, babe." Tonight, she didn't feel like taking it.

"Hey, babe. You gonna help me with the dishes?" Ten bucks says " _I'm tired from this weekend" is tonight's winner._

Without turning his head from the basketball game, Roy replied, "I'm kinda tired out from this weekend, babe. Think you could take care of it tonight? Promise I'll get ya back."

He always promised he'd " _get her back_." Did he ever really _get her back_ though? Is this how marriage worked? You just "got each other back?" That didn't seem right.

"Yeah, I'm tired too, but the dishes still need to be done."

She had to almost shout to be heard over the TV. It shocked her that her voice could get that loud. It shocked her even more when Roy actually _muted_ the television.

"Sorry, babe, I don't think I heard you. What was that?"

Dish rag in hand, she approached the end of the couch so that he could see her. She folded her arms to conceal the shaking of her hands.

"I said, I'm tired too. Dishes still have to be cleaned, Roy. It'll take us ten minutes."

Now, he was looking at her, remote still pointed at the television, eyebrows in his hairline.

"You serious, Pam?"

"Yeah, I'm serious. Come help me."

He made sure to be as loud, angry, and clanky at drying and putting away dishes as humanly possible. There was no cuddling on the couch. He mumbled an, "I'm going to bed," at some point, and disappeared into their bedroom. A satisfied smirk crept its way onto Pam's lips.

 _Good. Let him sulk._

With Roy asleep-much earlier than usual-Pam dug her sketchbook out of the closet. As she added the final details to the house sketch that she had been working on, her thoughts began to wander again to Jim.

Jim hadn't argued when she'd asked him to help with the dishes.

Wait.

 _Jim_ had started the dishes. She hadn't even asked him to. He had _wanted_ to help her. In fact, he hadn't even asked her to dry the dishes. She had joined him of her own accord.

Washing dishes with Jim felt _natural_. Washing dishes with Roy was more of an actual chore than doing them alone.

Satisfied with her drawing, she packed up her colored pencils and carefully tore the image from the binding, thinking about the conversation she had with Jim earlier that morning.

She was going to frame this one.

The little house, sitting on Monroe Avenue. The garage light bulb that was burnt out because the owner had refused to change it. "I'll get to it tomorrow," he'd said, four days ago. The reluctant footsteps that led to the car that had been parked in the driveway. The edge of a little, red car, slowly leaving the page. The clock inside, barely visible, reading 2:37 AM.


	8. Chapter 8

It was Tuesday, February 14th, 2006.

Valentine's Day was one of Pam's _favorite_ holidays.

She loved love. She loved _celebrating_ love. She loved seeing people _in_ love.

She loved all of the reds and pinks, the frills and flowers, the chocolates and candy hearts.

So why in the world was her frickin' _fiance_ out to ruin her day?

Her morning at Dunder Mifflin had dragged, and bouquet after bouquet whisked right past her desk into the arms of her assorted coworkers, causing a mounting annoyance to stir within her.

Sure, she and Roy had said they weren't going to do big gifts this year, but he could have at least _tried._

A _card_ would have sufficed. Some cheesy, three-dollar card from Rite-Aid, with a message that was more heartfelt-and had a wider vocabulary-than Roy Anderson ever would. That would have pleased her. But no. She got the promise of, "the best sex of your life." What was worse was that he had _believed_ himself when he made that vow.

And it, for sure, was _not_ the best sex of her life.

Then again, what did she have it to compare to?

She had only ever been with Roy.

As a late-teen and young adult, she definitely _thought_ he knew what he was doing when it came to pleasing her. He touched her in ways that she had never before been touched, and most of the time it felt pretty good. As she matured into a young woman, though, she had a sneaking suspicion that he really, truly didn't have a clue. At this point in her sex life, she wasn't even completely sure he knew what a clitoris _was._

To top it all off, after a less than satiating half an hour in between the sheets, Roy had gone out.

Yes, _out._

After a, "Damn, baby, that was _amazing_ ," a few more sloppy kisses that left her feeling like an owner being welcomed home by her dog, and about 10 minutes of cuddling up with his rough stubble chafing against her neck, his lips vibrated fighting words against her skin.

"So, baby, I know it's Valentine's Day and all, but since we already got to spend some _amazing_ time together, would you mind if I headed out for a little while?" He sounded drunk already, words slurring from his lips and burning the skin of her throat. "Some of the guys are having a little 'singles night out,' kinda like a 'fuck Valentine's Day' thing, and they asked me to join 'em."

He was almost cute when he was begging. Now shifted so that he was leaning on his side-facing Pam who remained on her back-his pleading eyes twinkled down at her in the low lights. Pam could only guffaw at his request.

His pretty please, puppy-dog pout turned into a frown, his eyes turning downward, at her reaction.

"Wait, you're _kidding_ , right?" she managed between bursts of laughter.

"No, Pam, I'm being serious." The way his eyebrows knit, his entire expression shifting, told her that her laughter was misplaced, and her demeanor began to mirror his.

"Roy. Roy Anderson, you have _got_ to be _kidding_ me right now!" She pulled herself into an upright position almost immediately after the realization that Roy was _actually_ planning to leave her alone on Valentine's Day.

She had pulled the comforter up around her chest. Why she felt the sudden need to shield her body from him, she didn't quite understand.

"I don't get why this is such a big deal!" He was speaking with his arms-something, she'd noticed, he only did when he knew he had no true grounds to stand on.

" _Don't get why this is a big deal? Roy_. It's _Valentine's Day._ And you just asked me if you could _leave me_ -your _fiance_ -to go to a _boys' night out_?! A _singles night?!_ We're _engaged!_ "

He was grappling.

"Pam, come _on_! We just _got_ to spend time together! It's not like we were going to do anything else tonight anyway!"

She was _fuming_. Eyes wide, skin glowing red hot, fists balled into the comforter that covered her bare body.

"And whose fault is that?! Just because I said I didn't want _big gifts_ this year doesn't mean I don't want to spend _time_ with you! That's what this whole _goddamn holiday_ is about!"

Now _her_ arms were waving. But not because she was forging excuses-no, because she was truly passionate about standing up for what she wanted. As she spoke, she repositioned her body so that she was kneeling, now eye level with the man who claimed to want to spend forever by her side.

"You're supposed to spend time with the person you _love,_ not go get drunk with your buddies who are too dysfunctional to hold down their own relationships! _God_!"

"You know what, Pam? If you really want me to stay in tonight, then _fine_! I'll do what you want. _Damn_."

He flopped over-exaggeratedly onto his back, arms crossed, lips pursing into a pout. She remained kneeling, clutching the comforter around her body as if it was a life support. Angry tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill out.

"No. If you don't want to be here, I don't want you here." She took a deep breath, wishing, _praying_ for the tears to defer. "You clearly have your priorities set. So _go_. Have your little "fuck Valentine's Day" party. Drink until you blackout. I don't care."

She spat the words, tasting the bile as they stung past her lips.

"C'mon, Pammy, you don't have to be like that." He was reaching for her, but she pulled away, turned her body to face the end of the bed instead of him. His touch frightened her. No, he hadn't done anything violent. But his intentions spoke volumes. She was laying in bed with a man whom she would marry, and he couldn't even put her first.

A mumbled, " _Fuck this,_ " escaped into the early night air, and he rolled out of bed, immediately heading for the bathroom.

She stayed buried underneath the covers, the comforter pulled right up under her chin, trembling like a child who was afraid that there were monsters under her bed.

He wasn't _under_ her bed, but rather, he shared it.

It took him ten minutes to change his clothes and freshen up for the bar, far more time than he spent when he took her out for the night.

When light cast a glare on the floor to their bedroom, the bathroom door cascading open, she wasn't sure what was about to happen. Would he apologize? Storm out of the room without a passing glance? Pick up right where they had left off? There was no ideal option.

He approached his side of the bed, the side closest to the bathroom door, not quite touching the mattress, but whispering against it. His eyes didn't meet the floor, but they didn't meet hers either. They were lost somewhere in the dark shadows that danced around their bedroom.

"Well, I guess I'll see you later then."

A small wave from where his hands rested near his thigh was all he gave, and all she returned were two curt nods.

Then, with the click of the front door, he was gone.

Her tears began flowing like the Nile, ugly sobs blubbering uncontrollably. Her sobs were irrepressible, constant, racking. She struggled to breathe, heaving large quantities of air, her lungs screaming almost as incessantly as her voice. Her body was convulsing savagely. She had never experienced a pain like this in her lifetime.

Her fiance had ditched her on Valentine's Day, but was that the true, underlying cause of her severe mental breakdown? Her mind was in no state to plore through rationality at this moment. As she shook, sobbed, released all that she had, her body eventually gave in, pulling her into a pitying, dreamless sleep.

She was awakened, not by Roy coming home, not by the screaming of her alarm the next morning, but in the throes of darkness, by her growling stomach.

Roy's body had been craving sexual release upon their return home from work, and between the terrible excuse for sex, and the fight that followed, she hadn't even realized that they had never eaten.

Well, _she_ hadn't. He was probably onto his second order of wings by now, she observed, as the blinking LED lights flashing 8:32 came into focus.

It was Valentine's Day.

Her fiance had ditched her to hang out with his friends.

She was lying in bed naked, unsatisfied, and hungry.

All of the expected emotions that should have surfaced upon her awakening all blended into a numbness that encased her body and protected her heart. She didn't know what she was feeling, but whatever it was, she wasn't sure if she was ready for it.

She needed to focus on something- _anything_ -else.

Twirling her now disheveled curls between her fingertips, she let her mind wander to the one part of her day that had made her smile.

 _Jim had been kind of quiet all day, she had noticed. Did the holiday have anything to do with his sudden somber mood?_

 _She knew that he and Katy had broken up shortly after the Booze Cruise, but he hadn't ever gone into detail as to why. Was it mutual? Had she dumped him? Was the romantic holiday unearthing memories that he had just so recently buried?_

 _These were the questions she pondered as she finished the details on her wedding invite list. There was truly no time to prepare for the wedding other than during her down time at work. But as she compared lists and jotted down notes, she was reminded of the previous Valentine's Day that she had shared with her floppy haired coworker._

 _Obviously they didn't ever get each other "gifts," but they had always exchanged cards that were personal to Jim and Pam as a pair of close friends. Last year, Jim had doodled her a handmade card featuring the giant head of one Dwight K. Schrute. His forehead, seeming to bulge out like a mad scientist, appropriately had the message, "I'm MAD About You, Valentine," scribbled across its wrinkle lines. She treasured it even more so than she had the one that Roy had given her ("Pam, I woof you. Love, Roy," with a cartoon dog on the cover)._

 _Fingering the top drawer in her desk, she wondered if he had forgotten about their tradition. She decided she wouldn't press the subject, and kept her card and accompanying gift tucked inside._

 _They didn't speak much that day, but she did overhear a phone call with, what she assumed to be, a friend who was calling in to cancel plans, and eventually she deciphered that he was having a guys' poker night later on. As the day dragged on, and flowers that weren't intended for her came and went, she had this nagging desire in the back of her mind to go to Jim's poker night instead of catering to whatever Roy had planned for her._

 _But she and Jim barely spoke that day. On his way out the door, he had wished her a friendly "Happy Valentine's Day" and disappeared. She felt deflated, like a piece of her day was missing. All was righted when she found his card tucked behind the jelly bean jar. How had she missed it?_

 _Almost instantaneously, a dead weight had been lifted off her shoulders._

 _The card made her giggle. A bowl of ice cream next to an upright spoon, both with cartoon eyes and smiles. The message read, "Wanna spoon?" and there was, in fact, a plastic spoon attached to the back._

 _Really, how had she missed this?_

 _Printed on the spoon was a Sharpie-drawn arrow, indicating a message on the back of the card. Turning it over, she found a shoddily drawn map of the office with a path for her to follow._

 _Classic Jim. Her smile stretched so wide, her face could barely contain it._

 _When she reached the freezer, she was met with a pint-sized container of rocky road labeled with a "Beesly" Post-It. Turning it over, she found his scrawled printing:_

Hope the **road** to your Valentine's Day isn't **rocky** _._

 _Happy Valentine's Day, Beesly._

 _-Jim_

 _She clutched the note to her chest, her cheeks now matching the pink shade of her sweater._

 _Before meeting Roy in the parking lot, she tucked both notes, the spoon, and the ice cream into her purse for safe keeping._

Drifting out of her memories as the rolling pictures ended, she recalled her earlier desire to spend her Valentine's Day with Jim and his friends.

At least _Jim_ had cared enough to get her a card.

At least _Jim_ had wished her a sincere Happy Valentine's Day, his words not underlined with the return of sexual favors.

Jim had brought more light to her day in the two minutes that it had taken her to read his notes than in the _hours_ she had spent that day with Roy.

The tingling urge spun inside her to reread his note, to have her fingers on that silly little pink paper that he had gone out of his way to personalize just for her. Wrapping the comforter around her body, she floated in a dream-like state to her where her purse lay on the kitchen table. The ice cream had been safely deposited in the freezer hours ago, but the note brought a new warmth to her fingers as she carefully plucked it from the bag, rereading the message several times over. Her lips curled up, cheeks tinting pink as she ran her fingers over his message. She wondered what he was doing right now.

Was he having fun at his poker game? Had he won a lot of money? Was he missing Katy?

Was he missing her?

Her trance was broken by the faint sound of buzzing coming from her purse. She hadn't turned the ringer back on upon returning home.

Suddenly, her body went numb.

 _Jim._

With hands and cheeks red hot, she flipped open the device and pulled the plastic to her ear.

"Hello?"

" _BEESLY!_ Oh my _god,_ what's _UP?!_ "


	9. Chapter 9

_Fuck_ Valentine's Day.

Jim wasn't one to ever really have a disdain for holidays. They were an excuse to hang out with family and friends, enjoy good food and drink, and forget about his worries for a day or two. But today, after hearing those words trickle off of Roy Anderson's lips, after letting the images of her going back to their home and spending the rest of her night underneath that neanderthal cloud every part of his brain, his animosity for all things pink and heart-related coursed through his veins like a poison.

Tonight, he was getting unabashadly, unashamedly, obliteratedly _shit-faced._

He didn't care if it burned her face into his consciousness, etched her giggles into his ear drums, carved her touch into his skin. He was going to drink until he blacked out. He'd call into work sick tomorrow. At this point, he was beyond caring.

As he drove home from the liquor store with way more than enough beer and whiskey for the 3 other people who would join him around the card table that evening, he scolded himself.

He knew, _had_ known for _years_ , that Pam was engaged to Roy.

Knew that Pam _lived_ with Roy.

Knew that Pam and Roy, like most couples who were engaged to be married and living under one roof, probably had sex quite often.

But he had never come face to face with that fact. Never made the conscious effort to think about it, to imagine what happened inside that cozy little house on Monroe Avenue.

In his own little world, Pam and Roy were roommates. Their three-year-long engagement resembled a housing contract at a dormitory. Eventually, the lease would end, and she would be freed. In Jim-World, Pam and Roy's "relationship" outside of work didn't exist.

He cringed as he recalled Roy's pithy, portentous words that more than cut him like a knife, but split him open, shattering every protective shield he had used to create his fantasy world wherein Pam and Roy were not a physical couple.

" _Let's get you home, and you are gonna get the best sex of your life."_

He wasn't even cocky, as the words had rolled off his tongue. It was as if Roy just _knew_ that he was going to take Pam home and satisfy her every need. Like it was his _job_. Like it was a fact; having sex with Pam was something he was born to do.

As soon as that reality had seeped into Jim's world, had broken the mold of safety that he had been living in, he couldn't handle it.

Years of protecting himself shattered in one moment.

He hadn't even stuck around to see the reaction she would have to his Valentine's Day card.

He couldn't.

He'd barely made eye contact with her as he wished her a pathetic, "Happy Valentine's Day," and exited the building, in a rush to push every memory of that day out and drown himself into oblivion.

He was already 5 beers down when Paul, Shawn, and Tyler arrived. A quick, "Fuck Valentine's Day!" toast, and the stereotypical "man's night" had quickly eluded any trace of a female presence, whether physical or ghost-like.

In stark contrast to the previous weekend, Jim was very quickly losing money, the alcohol hazing his judgment and creating foolish error as he slid yet another bill across the table. It was Tyler who had spoken up first, his, "Halpert, you doin' okay tonight, pal?" barely registering as concern to Jim, who had polished off 8 beers and had moved onto whiskey, more slugging back than sipping going on as his friends all eyed him with tense caution.

"Man, I'm _good_ , _so_ good." The words tangled on his tongue, tripping as he tried to convince his friends that he was, in fact, okay.

"You sure, buddy?" Paul scoffed, fingers jutting at the recyclables piled near Jim's end of the table. "You've got yourself quite the stash there for a Tuesday night."

Suddenly, he felt three pairs of eyes on him, and the warmth in his cheeks had little to do with the alcohol coursing through his system. Staring at the amber liquid that he cradled in a glass, he was suddenly hyper aware of how embarrassed he was. He was undoubtedly drunk, and his emotions were scripted in Sharpie all over his face. Mouth agape, he let a strangled sigh escape his throat, before liquid became words that poured past his lips.

"I jus' _really_ miss Pam."

His shoulders hunched, chin nearly resting on his chest. He was deflated, drained, just like that.

Whenever Jim allowed himself to open up and truly commit to a woman, he often kept those feelings between himself and that woman, at least for a little while. He enjoyed the intimacy of getting to know someone without everyone else's opinions interfering. But the case of Pamela Morgan Beesly was entirely different. The feelings he had for her transcended limits he hadn't even known _existed_ before he'd entered the Dunder Mifflin offices on his first day, and had seen her honey curls and her tongue clenched between her teeth as she giggled at something Michael had said.

But his situation with Pam was just so far out of reach, so far _beyond_ his control, that he had to talk to _someone_ about it.

The only people in his life who knew about his unrequited love for Pam were his parents, his brother Tom, and Mark.

His parents and brother knew because, after his first day at his "first big boy job" (thanks, mom and dad), the Halpert clan had thrown a "congratulatory dinner" of sorts. When asked about the highlight of the day, Jim had proudly announced that he had met the woman he was going to marry.

Of course, the following weekend, he had broken the news dejectedly to his parents that their future daughter-in-law was, in fact, not the Dunder Mifflin receptionist. But now they knew. And every time Jim brought up Pam's name, poor Larissa Halpert's heart broke deeper and deeper for her son.

His brother had been a casualty.

Mark knew because they lived together, and someone had to be there for him on the days when Roy would come up to the office and surprise Pam with lunch, or Roy would come up early to take Pam home and they would share inside jokes and sneak an innocent kiss when no one was looking. No one but Jim, who had to force himself to look away.

And Michael?

Jim had ostensibly _professed_ his feelings for Pam to Michael, right there on the same boat where mere hours prior, he had almost done the same with Pam.

Michael had told him not to quit. "Engaged ain't married."

But Michael Scott was also the same man who had forced everyone in their office to tape racial identities to their foreheads and portray stereotypical-and downright offensive-characters as a _game._

So, probably _not_ the best person to be taking advice from.

As Jim stared at the eyes that were fixed on his sad, pitiful presence, he had the sudden realization that none of these men had a clue what he was going through.

And as the retorts of, "Pam? Who's Pam?" and, "Well why don't you call her up?" echoed off the walls of his kitchen, he suddenly didn't care how deeply depressed he was, or how certain he was that Pam was, right now, in the arms of her lover.

He needed to hear her voice.

"Should I call Pam, you guys?" he slurred, fingers itching at the cell phone on the table in front of him.

"It's the day of love, Halpert! Call your girl up; have her join us."

"Really?" His eyes bugged out of his head. To the casual observer, it was the expression of a drunk man gasping at the suggestion of his friends. To Jim, it was the sudden thought that Pam could very soon be seated next to him at his very own kitchen table.

"Yeah, man. The more the merrier! Otherwise, your drunk, pansy ass is going to be miserable all night, and I didn't sign up for miserable," Shawn chortled.

Jim's returned laugh was far too over-expressive, but he used it to mask the nervous cloud that had suddenly overtaken his entire body. He snapped his cell phone open and closed several times.

"You _guys_ , Pam is just, she is so _great,_ you're gonna _lllove_ her. I promise. She ca- probably take all your money in poker, too. And she's so _fun_! You'regon- a love her. Oh my god."

His friends chuckled, nodded, and sipped on their drinks, taking a pause in their game as they waited for Jim to make the call.

Gulping, he flipped his phone open, hitting speed dial number one, and pressing the phone nervously to the tip of his tomato-red ear.

"Hello?"

He wasn't sure why he was so surprised that she had answered, but his enthusiasm could not be contained as he practically yelled, " _BEESLY_! Oh my _god_ , what's _UP?!_ "

The men around the table shook their heads in laughter and dealt the next hand, whispering jokes about their love-sick friend as cards were spread on the table.

"Not too much, actually," she giggled back. He swore that her giggle, if given the chance, could cure cancer. "Jim Halpert, are you _drunk_?"

His face spanned the warm shades of the color wheel, and suddenly he was tugging nervously at the collar of his t-shirt.

"Um, kind of, maybe a little. _Pam,_ are _you_ drunk?" She could picture his faux-serious expression, the tone in his voice a dead give-away.

"No, no I'm not, unfortunately," she giggled in response. "So, my inebriated friend, what are you doing so _drunk_ on a Tuesday night?"

Even in his state of mind, he was able to refrain from spilling the beans that he had been using the alcohol as a means to wipe her memory from every corner of his being. To destroy the evidence of just mere hours ago, when images of her and her fiance painted the insides of his eyelids, driving him mad.

"It's _Valentine's Day,_ Beesly! Me and the boys are drinkin' the _night_ away! We're paintin' my apartment _red!_ " He flailed his free arm enthusiastically, rendering a bag of potato chips helpless on the floor.

"Speak for yourself, Halpert!" He wasn't sure which one of his friends' voices had entered the background of his conversation, nor did he care.

"Oh really? That sounds like fun."

The kitchen around him disappeared. He was imagining her lounging on the couch in her living room, her body cradled against the armrest, feet propped along its back, her fingers toying with the curls in her hair.

He wasn't too far off. As visions of Jim and friends gathered in his kitchen, alcohol pouring, having a good time swirled in Pam's mind, she had found herself needing to take a seat at the kitchen table. Her fingers nervously tangled in the gold chain around her neck.

" _Pam!_ It is _so much fun_! Bu- it would be _so much more fun_ if you were here. You should definitely be here. So you should come over. Do you wanna come over?"

Part of her wanted to giggle; he was _very healthily drunk_ , after all, and she had truly only ever seen him the tiniest bit tipsy. This new territory was exciting for her.

But a larger part of her honed in on his words. I _t would be so much more fun if you were here. You should definitely be here. Do you wanna come over?_

Her eyes scanned over her apartment slowly, taking in its true emptiness. Roy was gone. Silence resonated almost as loudly as her heart did thumping inside her chest. Suddenly, the void that she noticed was screaming to be filled, and the only piece that could complete that puzzle was making incessant, albeit humorous, noises on the other end of the receiver.

 _Jim._

She couldn't make sense of it, or rather, didn't _want_ to make sense of the fact that her body, her mind, her very _soul,_ were all aching to be near to him, for him to bring her comfort, to make her feel safe in a night that was otherwise falling apart. Roy had unraveled her strings when he chose to walk out that door. She wanted, _needed_ Jim to stitch her back up.

Her silence worried him. He shouldn't have called. This was a mistake. She was probably laying in bed with Roy right now, their slick bodies warm against one another. They'd have a cigarette and a laugh when she hung up, words passed about "poor, lovesick Halpert." He had to stand, the lack of blood flow to his head suddenly rendering him dizzy. He was pacing. He was sweating. He was about to hang up the phone and throw himself drunkenly into traffic when her words, however small, saved him.

"I'll be over in twenty minutes."


	10. Chapter 10

Pam was coming over.

 _Pam was coming over._

Drunk Jim was _not_ prepared for this event.

Instead of picking up the haphazardly throw pile of cards and engaging in the next round of poker, he was suddenly everywhere and anywhere, flying all over the house like a chicken with its head cut off.

First, he was at the kitchen sink, running water to clean the pile of assorted dirty dishes that had been collecting. _Pam would expect a clean house, right?_ As he waited for sudsy water to fill the tub, he strode purposefully into the living room, straightening up the blankets that were strewn across the couch, tossing XBox remotes onto the entertainment center, and gathering plates of half-finished meals that he and Mark had left on the coffee table.

But then, he realized, he didn't have _time_ to do the dishes! Stopping the suds at the halfway point, he flung the dripping dishes into the oven, not realizing that his floor was now covered in small puddles.

Suddenly, he was in the bathroom, his actions rotating between tidying the messes and making himself look more presentable.

He was combing his hair, then scrubbing at a toothpaste stain on the counter- _toothpaste!_ His breath probably smelled! But if his breath smelled, why wouldn't the rest of his body? _Deodorant!_ -which he applied with his toothbrush hanging halfway out of his mouth. His eyes darted to the floor where he noticed dirty socks and a wet towel-well _that_ just wouldn't do! They were in the air on their way to the laundry basket when he realized he should probably take a look at his _own_ clothes.

Should he change? Would Pam _like_ his ratty Scranton High Basketball t-shirt? He flung it over his head, sending his toothbrush to the carpet in the hallway, before choosing a clean Scranton High Basketball shirt (this one had his last name on the back- _much cooler_ ) before finally returning to the kitchen.

Where he promptly faced three pairs of eyes, all wide, all locked on him.

Paul's beer was paused midway to his pursed lips. Shawn had his hands in a bag of chips, unmoving. Tyler was mid deal, cards only given to two out of four seats at the table.

"Yo, Halpert. You look like a damn deer in headlights, dude," Shawn finally observed.

Paul took a swig of his beer, chuckling before adding, "You've really got it bad for this chick, huh?"

He truly was a stereotypical deer in headlights: with eyes wide, his feet froze to the floor in the void where his kitchen melted into the living room.

He was suddenly aware of just how hard his heart was thumping beneath the fresh cotton of his new t-shirt. His friends were all eying him suspiciously. Pam would be ringing his doorbell any second.

And, he only had one sock on.

He had to sober up enough to not look like a total and complete fool, and he had to do it quickly.

He had just shrugged off his friends and found an extra chair to put around the table when the chimes reverberated through his front entryway.

Pam Beesly was on his front porch.

Taking in as much air as his lungs could hold, he strode-or, more so _stumbled_ -to answer the door.

Any semblance of a "quick sober-up" paled in comparison to how quickly her body, looking so small on his front porch, brought him back to reality.

Her skin glowed in the moonlight, honey curls having a new depth in the darkness of the evening.

He forgot to breathe for a second.

"Hi," she finally spoke. Is _she nervous? Why is she whispering? You shithead, let her in! It's cold out there!_

"Beesly!" He greeted her warmly, his smile reaching his eyes, backing slightly into the front entryway and extending his arms to either side of him. He was partly offering a warm welcome to his home, but in his state of inebriation, and the way his heart had swelled at her presence, he felt the immediate need to wrap her into a bear hug.

Which he promptly did.

As Pam stepped into the house, and into Jim's strong, lanky arms, the cold air whipping at her back from the still open door disappeared. Her cheek fit immediately to his chest, and fists that balled underneath her chin slowly flattened, extending across his torso and around his back.

She had questioned his intent when he had opened the door, arms opened wide, not even hiding from herself the fact that she had hoped he would offer her a welcome hug. Now, here in his arms, every ounce of worry, dread, fear, anger that had steeped within her that day oozed from her pores, melting away through his touch.

And for the first time, without questioning, she _let_ it.

His heart beat near her cheek, and the overwhelming sense of comfort of having his life source beating underneath her washed her with a calmality she hadn't felt in God only knew how long. In this moment, she was safe. His arms were strong, they protected her. The sensation brewing within her told her that this is where she belonged.

God, she smelled _so good_. With his cheek resting atop her head, he had let his nose wander, inhaling her scent directly. If he didn't blackout tonight from alcohol poisoning, her intoxicating scent would be the death of him. Was that _perfume_?

She felt so _goddamn_ right in his arms. Her body, however tiny, fit perfectly as she folded into him, like they had been made from the same mold. He would hold her here forever.

When it was all said and done, the hug only truly lasted about ten seconds before coughs and _ahems_ broke through the thickening air.

Slowly, reluctantly, the hug was broken. They each let their fingers linger, breaking total contact when there was no true reason to still be touching.

But Jim wanted more. He _craved_ more. However heightened his senses had been with the assistance of alcohol, they had only intensified with her presence. They each let out a nervous chuckle, and Jim's eyes drifted to the floor before pulling his gaze upward from her feet.

He hadn't taken the time yet to detract his gaze from anywhere but her mesmerizing green eyes, but now that was given the chance, he wasn't even sure where to begin. So far in his life, he had seen work-Pam and pajama-Pam. But now, casual-Pam was entering his world, and he was never turning back.

Those jeans were painted onto her body, hugging every curve and smoothing along every dip in her lower half. As his eyes continued upward, her sweater seemed to do the same, fitting her frame as if it were made solely to hug her body. The neckline dipped lower than anything she'd ever worn, but was still modest enough to only show the slightest hint of cleavage. He had to stop staring before his tongue rolled out of his throat.

"Welcome to the official Fuck Valentine's Day Essstravaganza!" He guided her to the kitchen, hands seeming to magnetize to the small of her back, as her helped her find her seat. She didn't dare pull away. She wanted this tonight.

"Pamela Morgan Beesly, meet, _the guys_." He pointed to each of his friends, who exchanged introductions. "Gentlemen. It is my very pleasure to introduce to you the _wonderful_ Pam Beesly.

Shyly, Pam waved, her head low, as she giggled at Jim's clear state of intoxication.

"Woul- you like a drink, Ms. Beesly?"

"Absolutely." She responded immediately with a single, curt nod. When Jim reached for the beers, she signaled for the bottle of whiskey instead.

"Girl wants to party with the big boys tonight, alright!" Paul offered a high five across the table, and suddenly Pam's nerves quelled dramatically. As Jim slid the lowball glass to her, she mirrored his earlier habits of knocking back the amber liquid more so than sipping at it, which only earned her more approval from Jim's friends.

"Alright, gentlemen-and _lady_. The game is Texas hold 'em…"

And the night of card playing continued. Being the most sober at the table, Pam quickly began winning hand after hand, money transfers piling her way. As they drank and talked and laughed, Jim found small opportunities for closeness, his body craving her touch like an addict craved a high. His fingers skimmed hers whenever cards were dealt. His right knee brushed her left with a warmth that pooled in his belly. Whenever he wanted to share a private comment, his nose teased at her ear as his whispers breathed hot on her neck.

With her second glass of whiskey coursing through her veins, she was thriving on his contact. Her body ran warm when he had laughed so hard that he reached his hand out to cover hers. She found herself adjusting the way that she perched on the chair, so that the friction between their knees happened every time either one of them moved. When he bent to whisper in her ear, her body was chilled to the bone; the tip of his nose tickled her ear, running up and down as he spoke in low, throaty words.

Of course, when the night had begun, she realized that Jim was drunk, and that drunk people often lost sense of a personal bubble. But as her body was loosened by the assistance of alcohol, she gave in, deciding that inherently, they both might have needed the extra courage.

But courage to do _what_ , exactly?

That, she still refused to admit to.

"So guyssss, why are we having a 'fuck Valentine's Day party?" Pam asked, the question lingering on her tongue since Jim had made his proclamation to begin the night.

"Well, ya see, Pam," Shawn began, pointing with his beer at the men around the table. "We here are all, what you might call nature's most pathetic creature: the single man. And when Valentine's Day rolls around, we are forced to face our singleness head on. So rather than do _that,_ we say 'fuck it,' and get drunk instead."

Eyes wide, focused intently on Shawn's words, Pam nodded over-enthusiastically.

"And young Jimmy Halpert here is the most pathetic of 'em all," Paul chided, grabbing Jim's head in his elbow and roughing up his cranium.

Pam's giggles choroused over the men. " _Oh my god_ , he called you _Jimmy._ "

Her body folded, arms clenched around her middle as she giggled, catching on the laughter of the other four men.

"Jimmy here was so excited for you to join us," Tyler added, waggling his eyebrows.

"Really?" Pam's eyes widened again, concentrating on Tyler's words.

"Definitely," he continued. "He was damn near in tears before he called you. But I'm glad he did. You're cool, Pam. You can join us for cards anytime."

Pam mulled over his words, watching them chase each other around the table, as Tyler silently signaled to the other two men.

"But I think, for now, we're gonna call it quits. You two kids have a good rest of your night."

Suddenly, Pam was panicking.

If the others were leaving, would she have to as well?

She crossed her arms, wrung at them nervously as Ty, Paul, and Shawn tossed garbage into receptacles, collected their cash, and headed to the door with their coats. Each of the three men gave her a quick hug goodbye, nowhere close to the hug Jim had given her.

Then, all too quickly, the door was shut.

They were alone.

Pam's face was burning. What should she do? She was _way_ too drunk to drive. But she didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay. With _him_. She didn't want to go back home to Roy, not tonight. But Roy wasn't even _home_. She'd be returning to emptiness. At that point, she couldn't decide which was worse.

The party was over. Surely Jim wanted her to leave, right? Anxiety was drawn in the furrow of her brows and the fidgeting of her fingers when suddenly, Jim was facing her, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

If her mind was racing, his had rocketed into space. Should he call her a cab? She obviously wanted to go home, right? They were both _absolutely_ drunk. He couldn't drive her home. Should he call Roy?

And then it hit him for the first time that night.

 _Roy._

It was _Valentine's Day_ , for crying out loud.

But she was _here_.

Where was Roy?

They were standing awkwardly in his foyer, catching each other's gazes only to pull away, when finally, something broke the silence.

"Oh my _god, Pam_! Was that your _stomach_?"

It was then that she remembered: she hadn't eaten anything since lunch.

Her giggles erupted like a shot from a cannon, following the laughter that Jim had begun.

" _Oh my god_ ," she chorused, clutching her stomach. "It was _so loud Jim_!"

"I know, I know," he cackled, grabbing onto the railing of the stairs for support as his intoxicated laughter threatened to knock him over.

"Pam, do you know what this means?"

Doe-eyed, she searched his face for an answer.

"We need to order a pizza, like _right now._ "


	11. Chapter 11

She was staying.

Pam's body eased, feeling suddenly weightless. She released a breath that she didn't know she had been holding.

If she were honest with herself, she felt the urge to do a little happy dance, but she refrained.

Jim was trudging to the kitchen. She giggled, overenthusiastically so, as he seemed to stumble over his own clonky feet.

"'ey! Beesllllly. No laughin' at me, or I'll eat all the pizza right in front of your cute lil' face." He tossed the comment over his shoulder, grabbing the Pizza Hut menu off of the fridge as the words escaped him. His cheeks ran hot, the filmy paper crumpling in his grasp.

 _He had just called her cute._

 _To her_ face.

 _Had she noticed?_

 _Did she care?_

 _Was she headed to the door right now out of sheer terror that he had just called her cute?!_

Quite contrary to Jim's thoughts, Pam was frozen to the spot, half of her body shadowed by darkness while the other half of her was engulfed in a halo of fluorescence looming from the kitchen.

 _Did Jim just call me cute? Did he really mean it? I_ did _wear this sweater on purpose._

She contemplated various scenarios in her head, "But he also calls puppies and babies cute, and those things drool _on themselves so what does_ that mean?" being the latest, when he snapped her from her trance.

"Pam. Pam. Pam. Important question. _Do_ we want cheese in the crust?"

He was cradling the house phone between his shoulder and his ear, both arms outstretched in the air to signify just how important this question was to him.

"Jim. Are you _serious_?" she slurred, her head bowing slightly, eying him with a half-lidded gaze that, in any other situation, he would have deemed seductive.

"Dead serious, Beesly. They are asking. The Pizza Hut himself is asking."

A pause, and an animated puzzled look twisted his lips.

"Sssorry, his name is Glen. Well, Glen is asking, Pam. And he _needs to know_."

His feigned serious look was even more intense when alcohol was added to the picture, Pam noticed. Unfortunately for Pam, she was the giggly drunk, so it took much more concentration than usual to continue along with Jim's stunt.

"No, Jim, I _asked_ if you were serious because, why would you even-eed to _ask_ that question? Stuffed crust pizza is the _only_ way to eat a pizza."

"Exac-ly my thoughts." He nodded his agreement, lips and eyebrows pursed. "OH-kay Glen, we will take _one_ large stuffed crust pizza with-Beesly, you like pepperoni, right?" She nodded enthusiastically, eyes wide. "Pepperoni. And cheese in the crust, Glen. You got that? Crusty cheese. Oh man, _grrrrrreat_ question, Glen, lemme consult-PAM! New question: _do_ we want a heart-shaped pizza?"

She had crept a little closer into the kitchen, the darkness of the living room no longer masking the red glow in her cheeks.

"A-a heart-shaped pizza? Wh-"

"For _Val-a-tine's Day,_ Pam. 'Cause a' Valentine's Day. They have a heart pizza special, according to Glen. Thanks for the tip, Glen. You deserve a raise, Glen."

Pam contemplated the gesture for a moment. Sure, it was Valentine's Day. But what would a heart-shaped pizza imply? Of _course_ she loved Jim-he was her best friend.

But in the past few weeks, she had found herself longing for Jim more than she did for her own fiance.

And here she was, over-analyzing the feelings that were bottled deep inside her, all over a damn _pizza_.

"Pam, Glen needs an answer, _and fast_!" Jim had a comedic urgency in his eyes, and she let a wordless chuckle escape her lips before crafting her response.

"No. Tell Glen _no hearts_. He's gonna charge you more money for less pizza per square inch," she said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms firmly against her chest.

"I'm not trackin' with you, Beesly. Hold on, Glen. We're doing math." He jutted his chin, urging her to continue.

"Well, _think about it_ , Jim," she began, speaking with her hands. "A large, heart-shaped pizza comes in the same size box as a _regular_ large pizza, _BUT_ ," she pointed her finger into the air, "since it's _heart shaped_ , you actually get _less pizza_." She smirked, giving him one of her "I told you so" glances as her arms found their place crossed against her again.

It was Jim's turn to be wide-eyed, awestruck by her quick thinking.

"No hearts, Glen. We see right through your holiday scam!" she called, ensuring that the poor Pizza Hut employees in Dunmore heard her.

She eyed Jim's tall, lanky body as he confirmed the rest of their order, adding break sticks at the last minute, "because tonight is a night to be _alive_ , Glen!" It wasn't for several moments that she realized that she was essentially undressing him with her eyes. He had turned slightly so that she saw more of his profile than a straight on view. He looked so casual, standing there in a t-shirt and jeans. She always hated it when Roy would meet her at the front door, already running late for their dinner plans, wearing a pair of old work jeans and t-shirt from high school that had a barbecue stain down the front. The way Jim pulled it off was so much more elegant, relaxed. Her eyes painted a line from his strong jaw down his neck, and she wondered what it would feel like to nuzzle herself into the dip near his shoulder.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sudden slam of the phone onto the counter.

"We will have substa- susta- _food_ , in less than thirty minutes or our pizza is free. I made Glen promise."

He looked so proud of himself.

At the same time, she noticed, his demeanor brought her such an overwhelming sense of joy, blanketing the room in a clam that she had never before felt.

She offered him a smile, clasped her hands over her heart, and sighed, "My _hero_ ," before joining him more fully in the kitchen.

He feigned bashfulness in the roll of his eyes and the wave of his hands, but the color creeping up his neck was sincere. Her eyes followed the trail of red, turning his cheeks warm, and her hands slowly fell to her sides. As she stepped into the light, he found himself truly drinking her in for the first time that night. Sure, he had drunkenly gawked at her when she had first entered his home. But standing in the kitchen light, with no one else to distract him, he was able to shower her with his full attention.

On the surface, he had noticed how the outfit wrapped her body in a hug. As she stood under the overhead light, he noticed only beauty blossomed by light that radiated from her skin. Her skin was flushed pink by alcohol, but she unconditionally glowed, surrounded by a natural grace that he seldom saw in short glances or stolen moments that he was sure he wasn't supposed to notice.

He was gawking, but subtly. His jaw was drawn downward, lips only slightly parted. It was more stunned admiration. For a moment, he was almost sobered.

She was watching him watching her. The tension in the room was palpable, and she suddenly noticed the tightness in her wedding band as heat seemed to flood the room.

"PLATES! _Jim_. We're gonna need plates."

Anything to dissipate the bubbling in her belly, the building pressure building behind her eyes. She darted into space that Jim occupied behind the breakfast bar, as he simultaneously threw his hands into the air, shouting, "YES. PLATES!"

She knew without a doubt that she tended to subsist extreme dizziness the drunker she got. What she wasn't expecting, however, was the puddle of water that propelled her feet out from under her as she approached the kitchen cabinets.

A strident yelp escaped her throat as one foot shot into the air, arms flailing behind her. She was anticipating a crash, hard impact looming, when suddenly, it was his arms that surrounded her. He caught her under her arms, his large hands splaying across her back. Slowly, her body was being pulled to an upright position. Involuntarily, her tiny hands had found a grip on his arms.

She felt her eyes drawn to his. Their expressions mirrored one another, lips slightly parted, eyes passing between hooded and wide, but never breaking.

The intensity was tangible, as they both felt the scorching heat where their bodies were pressed together.

He couldn't help himself any longer, and drew his eyes towards her lips, noticing the tremble that only drove him deeper into insanity.

But she couldn't take it.

Refusing to put a name to the feelings that that were absolutely engulfing her from the inside out, she knew that she had to stop whatever _this_ was before she did something regrettable.

"I didn' know you had a pool in your kitchen, Halpert." Her voice was husky, barely above a whisper. A smile tugged at her lips as she tried to control the vibrations.

The grip that he had encased her in relaxed, and she felt her body fall a small bit as he let out a sigh, and then a chuckle, head dropping slightly.

"I'm _so sorry,_ Beesly. I must'a got water on the floor when I was doing dishes earlier."

"So what you're saying is that I need to get you a 'Caution: Wet Floor' sign for cleaning days?"

He chuckled, lifting her fully upright and into a standing position.

"Alright, that's _enough_ of your sassiness, little lady. Now, plates!"

The absence of his touch replaced the tensity with sadness, and she rubbed her arms, a chill suddenly taking her over. She watched him intensely, burning her gaze into the number '18' sticker that was fading on the back of his t-shirt. His plates were within easy reach, but as he shifted to the cabinet that housed cups, she found herself mesmerized by the muscles in his back, taught and toned through his t-shirt. Before he turned around with an armload of dishes, she found herself tracing the lines in "HALPERT" with her eyes, wondering what it would be like one day to have that last name stitched onto her back as she watched tiny versions of him bound up and down the basketball court.

"Alright, Beesly, we goooooot _plates_ , we goooooot _cups_ , and we got more booze."

His toothy grin reflected behind the Tetris tower of supplies that were stacked in either hand.

Twenty-four minutes later-Glen staying true to his promise-they were seated on the living room floor, backs propped against the couch, enjoying the gooey goodness of their stuffed crust pizza.

"I'm tellin' ya, if anyone even _thinks_ about getting a pizza without cheese in the crust, they should be _committed_ ," Jim chortled as bit a hunk of crust in half.

"No kidding! I'm pretty sure the only people who don't eat stuffed crust pizza have severe mental problems."

"So probably Dwight."

His deadpan elicited from her a guffaw, her head falling back against the cushions.

"Ohmigod. Jim. What kind of pizza do you think Dwight likes?"

She was leaning slightly forward, eyes hooded, as she awaited his response.

"Oh, _definitely_ something disgusting. Sardines, maybe? Anchovies?"

"What about _beets_?"

"OH my god, _Beesly! Beet pizza_! Can you _imagine_?!"

They were both breathless with laughter, heads rolling, plates deposited to the floor. Pam clutched her stomach, the wonderful ache filling her everywhere.

As their laughter subsided, his eyes met hers again, and he found himself lost in the natural glow that emanated from her cheeks. He had to take a sip of his wine to shake himself from his inherent want to just stare at her.

Shoving pizza boxes aside, they fell into a comfortable banter, finding themselves inching closer to one another on the floor. Mere centimeters panted between them, bodies whispering against one another often as they spoke and laughed.

"Okay okay, would you rather be forced to wear wet socks for the rest of your life, or only be able to wash your hair once a year?"

" _Jim_! Oh my _god!_ " Pam found herself doubled over once again.

"Come on, Beesly! You have to pick one!" he managed between chuckles.

"Okay, okay." She took a deep breath, brows knit together as she mulled over her decision. "I guess I'd have to wear wet socks forever."

At her response, Jim's brows knit in disgust, eyes slightly crossed, tongue stuck out.

" _What?! Jim_ , I'm a _girl_! I can't _not wash my hair_ for a year! I would look like Bob Marley!"

"Oh my god. We _need_ to make this happen."

Pam shook her head, a continuous stream of laughter escaping her.

"No seriously, think about this, Pam." He had folded his legs underneath his body, hands splayed in the air as if he were about to pitch her an idea for a prank.

"You could start talking with a Jamaican accent. We could get you a steel drum, and one'a those floppy hats! Holy crap, Pam! We could drive Dwight _insane_!"

As words of his plan danced off of Jim's tongue, his laughter filling every corner of the room, Pam found herself marveling at the sheer joy that shook through his body. Even the things that made Roy happy-namely sports-often turned him sour more often than not. She only saw him excited like this when he had at _least_ two drinks in him. Jim's joy was pure. And, as she allowed herself to ponder, part of it was brought on by her.

"Okay Beesly, your turn. Shoot."

"Alright, umm…" she stared down at her fingers, searching for inspiration. "Would you rather have a finger for a tongue, or tongues for fingers?"

She barely had the words out before giggles joined them, only intensifying as she watched his expression turn from amused to horrified.

" _BEESly_! What the _hell_?!"

She threw her head back, hands slapping her thighs.

"Come on! You made me answer the last one!"

"Okay _fine_. I think...I think I'd pro'ly have to go with a finger for a tongue." As he relayed his decision, Pam was already in a fit of giggles, and he cut her off with, "Wait wait wait, hear me out Beesly!"

She straightened up, tucking her feet criss-crossed, pursing her lips into a serious stare.

"Think about this logically, Pam," he began. She was captivated by the way that he spoke so animatedly, talking with his hands as if he were describing how to follow a treasure map. "If I had tongues for fingers, everything I touched would become _instantly wet_."

"That's what she said."

She couldn't help it. She was trying to stifle her giggles, and he let out his own curt chuckle as he tried to pick his explanation back up.

" _Dirty,_ Beesly. I am a _shamed_. So anyway, I would ruin _literally_ everything if I had tongues for fingers. _But_ , if I had a finger for a tongue, I would be like a chameleon. Look at this!"

Suddenly, his right hand was near his mouth, palm-up, curled into a fist so that only his pointer finger was extended. He curled and uncurled it to demonstrate, trying his hardest to keep a straight face as he did so. She, however, failed to do so, as more giggles escaped her.

He could have lived in this moment forever. Her laughter was the soundtrack to his soul, and knowing that he was the cause of her giggles breathed life into him.

Eventually, their laughter died down, and they each resumed their original places on the floor, feet outstretched, bodies against the couch. Her feet were crossed at the ankles, and he mimicked her, brushing her softly on accident with his own large feet.

He cradled his glass of wine, almost empty now, knowing that he needed to stop soon if he didn't want a headache in the morning. It was, after all, only Tuesday night. He still had three more days in the office.

Pam, on the other hand, willed the warmth brewing inside of her to stay. She felt freer than she'd been in such a _long_ time. But maybe it wasn't the alcohol that was stirring up these feelings. Maybe it was the tall, lanky man whose bare foot had just brushed against hers, sending heat from her toes to her nose. The very same man who had single handedly saved her night from ruin the second he had welcomed her into his arms-no, the second that she had heard his voice on the other end of the line.

"Jim, I am having so much _fun_ with you tonight." The words barely escaped her throat, skimming past her vocal cords in a whisper that he was lucky to have caught.

"I'm having fun with you, too, Beesly." His smile was warm, genuine. Their eyes met for a fleeting second before his expression changed. "I mean, not that I wasn't having fun with the guys, but you just made it, I don't know, better."

Shoulders shrugging, that classic "Jim-face" expanding on his cheeks, his head turned to face forward once again as he was lost in his thoughts, the one question he had been wanting to ask her all night creeping from his mind to reality.

"So, why'd you come here tonight? I mean, where's Roy?"

He was staring into his wine glass, she at her toes. The silence hung between them for several moments before she finally spoke, her voice still small.

"Umm, Roy is...he's at the bar." Her tone dripped with embarrassment and regret. Her fiance was at the bar. Without her. On Valentine's Day.

His body was suddenly overcome with an intense weight. Sadness for her. Anger for him. He had the most wonderful girl in the world, and he was out getting drunk with his buddies?

"Pam…" He didn't know what to say. Too many different ways he could go. An _I'm sorry_ just didn't seem to express what he was thinking. But _I'm in love with you and he doesn't deserve you and you should leave him to be with me_ was obviously too much.

"He didn't even really spend time with me tonight, Jim." She was growing louder now, and if he were to admit it, he sensed a tinge of anger in her voice. "He was gone before we even ate dinner. He didn't have any plans, didn't buy me flowers… Jim, he barely said Happy Valentine's Day to me."

Tears were threatening. He assumed they were from the sadness of being left alone, but inside her head, she knew they were tears of confusion, of regret.

Of knowing that, on what was supposed to be the most romantic holiday of the year, she was sitting here with a man who treated her infinitely better than her own fiance had.

"God, Pam. Honestly, that's _so_ shitty. I can't even… That _sucks,_ Beesly."

He was lost for words, wanting so much to express how deeply his sorrow extended. A tear rolled down her cheek, and he felt his hand extend ever so slightly before her own beat him to it, brushing her own tear away.

"It does, Jim. It really does."

Silence settled over them again, but this time, they were both lost in thought. It wasn't comfortable, but it was manageable. Neither minded.

He dipped back his wine glass, swallowing the rest of the lukewarm liquid courage before voicing an opinion that had been brewing in him since the day he found out she was engaged.

"You know what you should do?"

He didn't dare look at her, but he felt her wide eyes on his cheek as he stared down into his lap.

"You should break up with him."

Pam was stunned.

It was as if a strong wind of every thought she had ever suppressed had come and blown into her. But it was coming from Jim.

 _Jim_.

Her best friend. The man who knew her inside and out.

If _he_ was urging her to make such a monumental, life-altering decision, did that mean that she wasn't so wrong to think the same?

"What?" was all she could muster. Too many thoughts were swimming for her to form something more coherent.

He gulped, taking a big breath before speaking again.

"I mean, _Pam_ , he's at the _bar_ right now." His voice was so thick with sincerity that more tears almost began dropping onto her cheeks. "I just...he doesn't treat you like you deserve to be treated. You...god, Pam, you deserve _so much more_."

Liquid threatened his eyelashes now, as thoughts of her suffering for so long taunted him behind his eyes.

Silence loomed over them again, this time entrapping them in their minds. He didn't dare go on, for continuing under this level of liquid consumption would threaten them into a point of no return.

Her mind was racing, a highway of images zooming by: Her first date with Roy that had ended in abandonment; her first lunch out with Jim, where she had been overcome with a strange sensation that whispered to her that he would one day become a very special person in her life.

Her stolen moments with Roy at the office were typically lunches that were interrupted by Darryl, or failed attempts on his part to convince her to have sex in the back of the warehouse, followed by many a "C'mon, Pammy! It'll be so much hotter! Think of the thrill!"

Stolen moments with Jim were so, _so_ different. It wasn't just the pranks they planned together, or the countless times that he came up to her desk for a jelly bean (or five). It was so much more than that. It was the intent behind every interaction. He was always bringing with him laughter, pure _elation_ , that always left her feeling lighter somehow.

Then there were the circumstances of tonight. Roy was at the bar, undoubtedly a six-pack deep at this point. Jim was sitting on the floor, an empty pizza box at his feet, giving her cramps in her stomach from how much laughter he had brought to her otherwise dreary night.

She glanced down his body, noting the way his posture was so relaxed. The way his legs crossed so casually at the ankles.

The way he was only wearing one sock.

Her eyebrows knit together as she cocked her head to the side.

"Jim. Why are you only wearing one sock?"

He was so eternally grateful that the alcohol had clearly taken over her attention span at that moment. He let out a chuckle.

"Uh, honestly, Pam? I have no idea." Slowly, their eyes met, as did the pace at which they both began to laugh, slowly at first, then breaking into a full-out fit.

As laughter died down, Pam was suddenly filled with a courage, a _need_ , that she'd never felt before. Untangling her feet, she reached over to grab Jim's bare foot, sandwiching it between her own.

"It must be cold," she stated simply, as if she were telling him that the sky was blue.

It wasn't just the touch itself, but the fact that it was intentional, that sent a vibrating pulse through his body. His breathing came quicker now, as he tried and failed to calm his heart rate.

"Y-yeah, only a little. This definitely helps." He gestured to her tiny feet that encased his large one. If he were being honest, it wasn't her pink-and-red heart socks that were filling him with warmth.

"Good," she stated, matter-of-factly again.

His eyes went from lidded to positively airy, eyes traveling up her once, then twice. She knew she should be cautious, but then, no one had ever looked at her in this way before. There was a desire in his eyes that was so much more than the friendship she thought they had.

As she saw his eyes come to on her lips, she realized that if he were to kiss her, she wouldn't stop him.

"So, do you wanna watch a movie or something?" As the words escaped her, she realized with a fierce intensity that she did not want to leave. For tonight, she wanted to be where _she was wanted_. And that place was here, feet cuddled up, side by side with Jim Halpert.

After all she had endured, she deserved this.

"Sure, absolutely." He needed to remove himself from her touch, if only for a minute, to remind himself where he was.

She is engaged. She is engaged. _She is engaged_.

The words bounced around his head as he crossed the room to find the remote. He turned on the television, handing her the remote with the instructions to, "Find _the cheesiest movie_ you can, Beesly. This is Valentine's Day we're talkin' about, and dammit, we're gonna do it _right!_ " before disappearing into the kitchen.

He returned with two glasses of water, popping off the kitchen light before handing her one.

"I don't know about you, but I sure as hell do _not_ want to have a hangover tomorrow when Michael inevitably spends our day explaining his Valentine's Day in full detail," he quipped, a serious expression contradicting the giggles that escaped Pam.

"Always thinkin' ahead, Halpert." She wagged her eyebrows once before taking a hearty sip from the glass, the cold water refreshing to her otherwise rising body temperature.

As soon as he claimed his seat next to her on the floor, 13 Going on 30 overtaking the room, she immediately grabbed his foot between hers again.

"Seriously, Jim. Hypothermia is nothing to joke about."

He could only nod in agreement, fearing he would say or do something he regretted if he tried to respond out loud.

With his foot caught between hers, their sides were flush against one another. Thirty minutes into the movie, she lay her head on his shoulder. She wasn't tired. Wouldn't be falling asleep anytime soon. Tonight, she was going after what she wanted. And what she wanted was to feel the comfort that Jim brought into her life every time he walked into a room.

He wanted so desperately to put his arm around her, but he feared she would pull away, or he would kill the moment. For now, he was so extraordinary content with her head cradled onto his shoulder. When he glanced over, her eyes were wide, still focused intently on Jennifer Garner scuffling around her apartment with an umbrella.

She had done this on purpose.

Never in a million years would he have thought his night would've ended up like this. Rather than spending his time in this moment lost in his pattern of over-thinking, he chose to give in, relishing her closeness, her body against his.

He let his own head drop to rest against hers.

He could've sworn he saw her lips curp upwards.

Normally, under the guise of that much alcohol, she would have woken up with a pounding headache. This morning, though, she woke peacefully for the first time since she was a little girl. Her alarm was going off, somewhere in the distance, but the calmness with which she awoke was so rare that she wanted to give herself five more minutes. She reached out her arm to hit the snooze button, but hit carpet instead.

Her eyes were open immediately, growing wider as she took in her surroundings.

She was asleep on Jim Halpert's living room floor.

More specifically, she was asleep _on Jim Halpert_.

Somehow, in the middle of the night, they had ended up laying down. Her head rested atop his chest, tucked underneath his chin. Her arm wound around his middle, and his possessively encircled her at the waist. His face was curled in towards the top of her head, his nose buried in her hair.

The alarm going off wasn't hers. It was coming from upstairs, in his bedroom.

Well, that explained the faintness.

The clock on the cable box blinked seven o'clock.

She was frozen to the spot, but at the same time, a part of her didn't want to move anyway.

As this thought crossed her mind, she felt him shift against her, arms tightening, nose nuzzling her, before he realized what he was doing.

Before he got the chance to jump ten feet in the air-which he promptly did-she had a fleeting thought that she wanted to lock this moment away and relive it every morning for the rest of her life.

"Oh my god's!" and "W-what's?" and "I should probably-" "Should I?" "Yeah, yeah's" lay in a tangled heap on the floor.

In sixty seconds flat, she was out the door, and he was sinking into his couch, large hands covering his face, as he tried to remember every detail as vividly as possible before they all disappeared.

Pam sat in her car, doing the same, as her thoughts were interrupted by the cell phone that she had left in the center console of her car last night.

Roy was calling.

And she had twenty-seven other missed calls.


	12. Chapter 12

_You should break up with him._

The words hammered between her ears as Roy paced in front of her, arms flailing, anger trenched in the deep creases of his forehead.

She honestly wasn't catching every word that darted off his tongue. By the way his lips were articulating, she could tell his words were sharp, biting, riddled with negativity. But amidst his shouts of _Why didn't you call_? and _I was worried sick, Pammy_! were hazy glimpses of _I'll eat all the pizza right in front of your cute lil' face_ , and _that's enough of your sassiness, little lady._

And, _He doesn't treat you like you deserve to be treated_.

"You could've at least had the decency to pick up your goddamn phone!"

 _God, Pam, you deserve so much more._

"I didn't fuckin' sleep at _all_ last night, Pam!"

 _You should break up with him._

" _God!"_

Whether the daze that she was dancing through stemmed from the quickness with which her early morning had begun, or from the alcohol that still clouded her brain, she couldn't tell. But the response that she returned was so robotic, so mechanical, so utterly _impersonal_ , that she almost felt remorseful.

"I'm sorry, Roy. I really am. I left my phone in the car. We fell asleep. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, _sorry_ doesn't make up for the fact that I was up all night."

 _You deserve so much more._

"Now I'm gonna go to work on almost no sleep."

 _You should break up with him._

It almost felt as if she were out of her body, standing and watching from above. Like she was watching herself in a dream. If her head wasn't so clogged, so muddled, she would have told him off.

An army of responses waited in line like children at the circus.

" _You_ were up all night? Should we count the nights that _I've_ stayed up waiting for _you_ without a phone call?"

"I go to work on almost no sleep at _least_ once a week. Haven't complained in ten years."

" _You_ could have had the decency to _spend some time with me_ on _Valentine's Day_!"

Instead, she felt an overwhelming sense of calm. From where, she couldn't quite pinpoint. She only knew that, in her heart right now, she had no desire to fight, no hunger to nitpick his every word. She wanted to end this discussion as quickly as she could, and wander back down the path that got her lost in her thoughts.

The oaf who stood in front of her, arms flailing, forehead bulging, skin positively glowing tomato red may have been her fiance, but the lean, lanky, goofball, with his last name on his t-shirt, whose arms she had found herself wrapped in this morning, held her thoughts captive.

She had some _major_ sorting out to do.

And for those purposes, she needed Roy calm, collected, and out of her hair.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, a more genuine tone to her apology this time, her eyes casting downward to the fingers tangled in her lap.

"I think I'm just gonna head into to work. We'll finish this later." His tone still exuded anger and frustration, but it had quelled a bit. His hands had moved from where they waved expressively above his head to clenched behind it in the same way that he might cool down after a long run.

"Do you want me to wait for you or…?" His eyes searched hers, running slowly over the clothes that she had been wearing when she left last night. An outfit he had never seen. One more suggestive than what she had worn to work, even. He would find answers to those questions later.

She shook her head, eyes closed at both the movement that made her lightheaded, and the silent wish for him to just _go_.

"I...I think I'm gonna call in late, actually. Be in by ten or something."

He wanted to make some sort of remark, a dig about her being too hungover to go into work, when he was about to do the same. But he refrained. He didn't want to start this again. They could have it out later. He threw her a curt, "Okay, see you later," and was out the door.

With the click of the latch, Pam let their living room couch absorb her, head falling back into the plush cushions. The faint LED of the cable box read 7:32. She put in a call to Toby's line, knowing he was probably the only person responsible enough in their office to take care of arrangements for her until ten o'clock, sought out a bottle of water and a few aspirin, and headed to the shower.

She always did her best thinking in the shower. It used to happen late at night as she was drifting off to sleep, but when Roy was added into that equation, her moments before sleep were often filled with kisses, shed clothes, awkward grunting, and a scramble to make up for lost quality sleep time. As the steaming water pattered at her bare skin, her pores opened, and along with the dirt and grime that slid down her body towards the drain, her emotions, too, rushed out.

 _You know what you should do?_

Jim had been drunk, right?

 _You should break up with him._

They had _both_ been drinking, hadn't they?

 _You deserve so much more._

Then why, in the sober light of day, were his words resonating _so strikingly_ with her?

She saw his face, illuminated by the television lamp, looking so _utterly sad_ for her. Was that real?

 _You should break up with him._

But Roy was all she knew.

 _You deserve so much more._

What did he _mean_ by that? She knew what he _meant,_ but why was she suddenly questioning his deeper intentions?

He had come over, at a moment's notice, to fix her toilet for crying out loud. A moment that had occurred in the middle of the night, at that.

He had sat on her couch _more_ than once now, listening to her worries, her joys, her dreams. And what had she offered in return, aside from cheap snacks?

When Roy had spent the night at the bar, he had spent the night buried in her sketchbook, his comments so personal and awestruck.

While Roy drank his buddies under the table, he had shared popcorn and pranks and genuine laughs.

When Roy chose to spend Valentine's Day without her, Jim had insisted (even cried, according to his friends) on being _with_ her.

But he was her best friend. Wasn't he?

Then why had she felt so comforted, _relieved_ even, by his invitation to spend the night with him and his friends? Why hadn't she felt more remorseful when her fiance had been pacing before her, not twenty minutes prior?

What had possessed her to cuddle their feet together, _more_ than once, the night before? Certainly the alcohol had played a part in the stunt. But as she allowed herself to let her true emotions run their course, she knew that somewhere deep down inside, she had wanted it. The memory of their intimate moments brought a warmth through her body that mirrored the steam that filled the shower.

Rapid flashes of their bodies tangled on the floor.

Her head cradled into his chest.

The way he so possessively gripped her waist, drawing her body closer.

How his face was folded towards her, giving her his undivided attention even in unconsciousness.

Closing her eyes, she willed her body to remember the way that his body had molded into hers, feet lost in an endless tangle, the scent of spice still lingering from where her cheek had lain warm against his beating heart. For the first time, she succumbed to all that she had been suppressing. All of the "what's" and the "why's" disappeared down the drain with the suds that ran off her body, as she let this newness overcome her.

 _You should break up with him._

Initially, the words had scared her, thoughts of leaving Roy driving her to memories of her twenty-first birthday, the first and only other time that thought had ever crossed her mind. Towards the end of the night, when she hadn't wanted to take anymore shots because she didn't want to lose control on her first "official" night as an adult. He had grown angry, slamming his fists down on the bar, insulting her, calling her names, driving her to tears. He had humiliated her in front of all of their friends. She had called a cab to take her home, not wanting her mother to be upset with him. She had cried all night, well into the dawn, formulating her next steps. The next morning, with no hangover and a clear head, she had every intention of telling him that she deserved better. Even when he had shown up equipped with flowers, tears in his eyes, and a big speech. She deserved _better._ But as the apology rolled off his tongue, tears hitting the knee that he was bended upon, she realized that he was truly all she had ever known.

Why leave comfort, when comfort was so secure?

But now, as that memory faded, dozens more began to take its place.

The first time he had left her waiting at home, all dolled up and ready to go, foregoing dinner plans to spend his night at the bar with the new guys from work. Of course, it would be the first of many nights where her makeup would go to waste, sliding away with silent tears, as his midnight apologies brought fresh ones to the brink. When Kenny got his first set of jet skis, and she had initially been _so_ excited, anticipating an invitation to head to the lake, when really it was Roy who would be attending to the fun, and Pam who would be staying home, beach bag hitting the floor, as the stocky brothers let the door click behind them on their way out.

Or the time, mere hours ago, when he had chose drinking with the boys over spending Valentine's Day with her.

He may have been all she'd ever known, but suddenly the reality of "all she'd ever known" was quickly becoming years of relentless letdowns. Did she really want to continue that pattern for the rest of her life?

She returned to Jim's words, _You should break up with him._

All those times, she had chosen comfort, stability, loyalty, time and time again, when he had been throwing all of it away as quickly as she could hand it to him.

What was she _doing_?

Eyes opening for the first time, she suddenly realized that Roy wasn't an obligation. Roy was a _choice_. One that she had made time and time again, when he hadn't done the same for her.

As she stepped out of the shower, fog on the mirror beginning to dissipate, she saw two choices clearly staring back at her.

One was stability, routine. But it was also bland and mechanic. It was often degrading. It was slowly eating her away inside.

The other made her smile when she wanted to cry, made her want to chase her dreams instead of lock them in a closet.

The other felt joy when she felt joy, and felt pain when she felt pain.

The other brought her ice cream on Valentine's Day.

She had a choice to make.

But as she pulled on a fresh outfit and checked her appearance in the mirror, she realized that she could absolutely be overthinking everything she had just assumed about Jim. All of the conflictions that had come to resolve in the shower suddenly froze within her.

She thought she had a choice to make, when in reality, she had a _lot_ of information to process.

The conversation with Roy was inevitable. He had said they'd "finish this later," but the implications of that were so much greater now.

The conversation with Jim? That had to happen today.


	13. Chapter 13

The fact that his head was currently encased by a cold, porcelain bowl had absolutely nothing to do with the amount of alcohol he had just consumed. As soon as Pam had left his embrace, left his home, his entire body began convulsing. He was lucky he had made it to the bathroom.

Now, forty-five minutes of kneeling on the hard tile in his jeans later, his body atrociously exhausted, he brought himself into a sitting position, back against the wall, and tipped his head back. Threading his fingers into his hair, he exhaled, and let the memories of last night wash over him like a cold shower.

He shouldn't have been drinking. Or, at least, shouldn't have been drinking as excessively as he had allowed himself to. Any normal person would certainly have some lost inhibitions under the canard of that much alcohol-but Jim didn't consider himself a _normal_ person, not when it came to Pam. Even his friends-who hadn't known she existed until _hours_ into their card game, when the pathetic in him had won out and demanded she join them-noticed that something was up.

They had been left alone, cloaked in liquid courage, guards torn down by an evening of empty bottles. His hands had been on her. Her legs tangled with his. But not in the ways that, on countless lonely nights, he had imagined they would be: bodies bare, sharing heat, exploring and tasting and consuming one another in a carnal expression of their love. No, not like that. The manner of their junctions last night were so much more intimate than he could have ever schemed by himself. Images flashed behind his eyes, thrusting fresh dizziness upon him.

Her body slipping on his kitchen floor, caught by his strong hands, her back trembling against the span of his grip. Her tiny digits grasping at his forearm. Had she lingered at the hair there? No, no she couldn't _possibly_ have. But he didn't care. For today, in his version of what happened, she had. Because as he pressed play on the soundtrack to his 2006 Valentine's Day, those hooded eyes lingering up at him told a different story. The way she purposely-not once, but _twice_ -had drawn his foot between hers. Had lain her head on his shoulder long before sleep had overtaken her petite frame. That was all _intentional._ He didn't care that she was drunk. She had made a choice.

Had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

Had woken up this morning undeniably _wrapped around him._

And then, it was her face against his chest, her hands still wrapped around him when morning came, the smell of her hair as her head tucked protectively under his chin, that hit him square in the face. She hadn't been stiff, or pulled away; her arms were gripped tightly around him, her body cradled towards him, until reality had snuck up and stolen their quietude. She had reveled in those moments as much as he had, right?

In that moment, alone on his bathroom floor, he allowed those thoughts to consume him: that underneath all of her doubt and uncertainty, despite the handcuffs around her left ring finger, that she could possibly feel this, too.

The haunting of his own words kicked him back into reality.

 _You know what you should do? You should break up with him._

Rolled forward on his haunches, his face was back in the toilet. Bile raced up the back of his throat with a burning that was much less than the memory of his own fuck ups.

 _He doesn't treat you like you deserve to be treated. You...god, Pam, you deserve_ so much more.

Had he really said that? _Out loud?_

Of course, it was _the truth._ But what had possessed him to _admit_ that, _to her face_?

A sense of dread washed over him, thoughts of Pam tangled in her own misery bringing fresh acidity to his throat. Was she upset? Was she pacing her house, trying to make sense of this, too? And then there was Roy and a whole new cloud hung suddenly ever-present above him.

She had _spent the night_ here. On _Valentine's Day._

Was he mad? Were they fighting? Was he yelling at her _right now?_

"Oh, god. Oh _god oh god oh god_ ," spilled from his mouth, echoing the same way in which remnants of last night's charade had washed down his drain not long before.

In a matter of twelve hours, he had not only ruined the chance of ever having the privilege to love her, but he very well could be losing his best friend. The thought didn't quite make him sick to his stomach, as much as it made his entire body ache from his heart on outwards. He found himself struggling to breathe for a moment, clutching as pain seared through his chest, strangled sobs escaping him as bitter tears clawed their way down his cheeks.

There was _no_ way he was going into work today.

The word _coward_ taunted him, but he didn't give a _fuck._ If he saw her, he would indubitably fall to his knees before her, grovel at her feet. But would he stoop in apologies, begging her forgiveness for ever crossing the line that, for years, he had danced so carefully around? Or would he pour out his heart and soul, giving one last ditch effort of convincing her that this was so much more real than she could ever imagine?

He couldn't fathom either of those _ever_ coming to fruition. At least, not in the middle of the office.

As he peeled himself off of the cold, hard tile, indentations forming on his arms and cheek, he realized that he couldn't, in fact, avoid her altogether. Maybe for a half day, but not altogether. He had to drag himself into the office today, no matter how painful. He could take a half day, deal with an hour of incessant torture from Michael, undoubtedly riddled with questions like, "Ohhh, Jimbo! Get lucky last night?" and be done with it. But to fail to face his demons altogether would bring about an all new kind of torture.

For one, the questions would only mount with the rumors that his coworkers would inevitably circulate, and interrogation would only be doubly horrible if he surrendered to it on Thursday instead of today.

The other half of that battle was that alcohol didn't necessarily erase memories. Or at least, not altogether. Pam would at least remember waking up in his apartment, if nothing else. If he avoided her entirely, he would admit cowardice, or remorse, or the undeniable amount of _fear_ that had taken ahold of him. He couldn't do that to her. Not after everything he'd already done. He had to at least face her, show solidarity in their fight against whatever had transpired last night. Whether or not she reciprocated his overwhelming turmoil, he would be there.

He called work, leaving the message about coming in after lunch for Toby, knowing full well that he did _not_ want her to hear the pang of utter sadness in his still gravelly voice. Dragging himself into the shower, he willed the suds to wipe away the negativity that cloaked him, while simultaneously getting lost in thoughts of her feet on his, her tiny hands clenched around his waist, the smell of her shampoo so closely pressed into his nostrils. It took everything in his power to keep from putting his old t-shirt back on. It was still riddled with her scent. Instead, he buried it under the pillows on his bed, willing the mattress to absorb it by the time he got home and sulked there all night.

He busied himself that morning with cleaning the disaster area that his kitchen had become, knowing that he should just face the memories head on right away. His cheeks burned as he wiped the puddles that remained on the floor. His toes tingled when he snactched the pizza box off of his living room floor. But none compared to the way his heart positively ached when he discovered the small pink and red sock that was hiding under his couch.

She must've lost it somewhere in the middle of the night, their feet intertwining and peeling the garment off, rendering it helpless and forgotten. He knew that bending down and retrieving it would ruin him.

A sock.

A fucking _sock_.

He needed clinical help.

He toed it back under the couch, knowing he'd need to deal with it later.

Today was going to be _rough_.

Ten o'clock came far too quickly. She hadn't gotten to spend enough time crafting what she was going to do, _say_ , when she saw Jim this morning. She had gotten as far as starting with his valentine that still sat in her desk drawer before she realized that she was going to be late for being late. Despite the bitter temperatures, she was overheating in her coat and scarf as the elevator ascended, the thumping of her heart _certainly_ audible by Hank the security guard. As sweaty palms reached the door, perspiration gliding down the back of her neck that had _not_ accumulated due to heat, she suddenly felt like she was going to throw up. That discernment only intensified as, after taking a deep breath and doing a bit of self-talk, she crossed the threshold, only to discover his desk empty, messenger bag missing, coat not on the rack.

He had called in.

The onslaught of _Where is he_? and _Is he just hungover, or was he freaked out too?_ and _What if he's avoiding me because he thinks it was awkward?_ and _Oh god I can't do this with him gone_ assaulted her from all sides. She was going to be sick.

"Pamela." The frank voice shook her from the tribulation. "You are late."

"I know, Dwight," she mustered, taking a few slow steps towards her desk, willing the faintness to subside. "I called Toby. It's all been taken care of."

"That does not excuse you from failing to take your work duties into consideration before spending your holiday engaging in heinous activities." The words shot dully from his lips, his eyes never wavering from the paperwork that flipped between his fingertips.

She couldn't think of any plausible response, knowing that he was right, and that she wasn't even in the mood to mess with him today. God, what did _that_ say?

"Apparently flagrant avocations were quite common last night. A young Jim Halpert has also called in late today. I wonder, what sort of circumstances could have put out two Dunder Mifflin employees on the same night?"

She sputtered a simple, "I need to get to work, Dwight," craving the canopy of her desk to shield wandering eyes from the red hue in her cheeks and the tears that threatened to spring from her eyes.

Jim had called in late. He was coming in after all. She could breathe.

But now, her questions were more persistent.

Why had he called in late?

Was he just hungover?

Or had he spent all morning questioning the implications of the words he'd said, the way they had woken up together?

Was his head spinning with liquor or uncertainties?

Would he even be able to look at her upon his arrival?

The racing of her mind was brought to a screeching halt when she finally turned to enter the password on her computer. Lain across the keyboard was one single rose. No card, no note, just a single rose. She plucked it carefully from where it sat atop her keys, twirling it slowly in her fingers.

Another appeared twenty minutes later when she disappeared to get a soda. A third at eleven o'clock when she was summoned into the conference room to take notes for Michael's meeting.

This obviously wasn't Roy. But they couldn't be from Jim, could they?

He felt it, too? Had orchestrated this whole "coming in late" ruse to make this elaborate gesture?

When he came in after lunch, would he be holding the last of a dozen, tears in his eyes, sheepish grin on his face, as he gathered her into his arms?

 _No, you psycho; snap out of it!_

Her notepad had been unconsciously filled with doodles of roses and basketball hoops and heart-shaped pizzas. What was _wrong_ with her?

Pulling on the top drawer of her desk, she ran her fingertips over the gift and card that she had stowed away for Jim yesterday afternoon. Did she leave it on his desk for him to find? Pull him aside later on, and give it to him as an ice breaker to the inevitable uncomfortable discussion that they _needed_ to have?

That was what today was all about: They _needed_ to have this conversation. Needed to figure out what the hell was going on. Did he feel it, too? Was she in a relationship with no plausible end?

Two more roses came before lunch, joining the collection in the vase that she pulled out of the kitchen. Kelly had gushed with, "Ooooo's!" and, "Oh my god, _Pam'_ s!" while Angela's retorts of, "Is there one from every man you've slept with?" were less than encouraging. As she rifled through the fridge for something to eat-having forgotten to pack a lunch on her way out ( _must have been too much on her mind or something_ )-she came across a Cugino's take-out bag with her name scrawled on the front in black Sharpie. Inside, she found a plastic container of baked ziti and a filmy bag of garlic bread. The scrawl was obviously from a worker at the restaurant. But who had left it? Presumably the same mystery flower man (it had to be a man, right?). Grateful for the sustenance, as the growling of her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since the pizza last night, she dug in, eating at her desk as to not miss Jim's entry to the office.

But it had come when she had gone to the bathroom. She saw him before she saw the next rose perched on her keyboard. She stood in the doorway, warmth brushing over her, watching him interact with Dwight. Despite the bantering that was going on, he looked absolutely, positively _deflated_. The bags under his eyes resembled the aftermath of a playground scuffle. His color was undeniably grey. Choking down a sob, she hid behind the door, peeking through the shades as he went about his business in stark contrast to his appearance.

He didn't want to enter the building. Didn't want to open the door to Scranton Business Park, ride in that elevator, and step into his office.

He didn't want to see her.

He didn't want to face rejection, disappointment, words and tears that would ultimately tear him apart. He could already hear her words, _You're my best friend, Jim. I don't want to lose you_ rattling in his head. He would put that off for as long as possible if he could help it. Body tense, he braced himself to see her warm smile, the soft glow of her cheeks, her honey curls that framed her face.

But she wasn't there.

 _Is she okay? Did Roy do something? Oh god what if something happened to her?_

Heart thudding out of his chest, he crossed the floor to her desk in three long strides, exhaling loudly when he saw her computer booted up, purse under the desk, lunch leftovers in the trash can.

"Fact: You are late."

God, he didn't think he'd ever be so happy to see Dwight as he was right now. If there was ever a day where he had needed a distraction more, today was definitely the day. Draping his coat, scarf, and messenger bag over the back of his chair, he responded to Dwight's accusation.

"Actually Dwight, I'm right on time. I called Toby and told him I was going to be starting after lunch today."

"Jim, I'm over here." Dwight waved his hand furiously at the lanky man whose body was deliberately facing Creed's desk.

"What are you talking about? I _know_ you're right here. We're having a conversation."

"No, _Jim, look at me_ when you're talking to me!" He continued to wave his hands, moving his body into Jim's line of sight, which Jim blatantly avoided.

"Dwight, I'm looking _right at you_. Seriously, did you party too hard last night or something?"

His gestures were all directed towards Creed, who had at this point turned his attention to the commotion occurring at the front of the bullpen, as had several others.

"This kind of behavior is inappropriate, and I will _not_ stand for it. _Michael!"_

As Dwight spun on his heels, charging towards Michael's office, Jim's body collapsed into his chair, wanting nothing more than to become buried in his work, avoiding any and all contact with Pam. As soon as he was settled into his desk, Michael returned, beckoning him into the conference for some kind of pointless sales meeting. He pushed his lean body up from his desk, and it was as he stood up that he finally made eye contact with her from across the room.

She was still standing behind the door to the kitchen, glaring through the blinds like a child trying to peer through the slats in the banister to see Santa Claus. She looked so goddamn _adorable_ that the pain in his chest was almost subdued. But as their eyes met, he could only offer her a tight-lipped smile before turning sharply on his toes and darting into the conference room. If he had held her gaze any longer, he would have surely come apart.

Silently, head down, she padded back to her desk.

She closed the drawer to her desk, tucking away the Valentine's Day gift. There didn't need to be a conversation. His eyes had said everything, answered every question that had been brewing inside her that day.

 _This is awkward, Pam._

 _I didn't mean for it to happen._

 _Let's just forget about it, okay?_

 _Of course_ there didn't need to be one. He was her best friend. She was engaged. There was nothing more to it.

But god dammit, she needed a _why_. Neither of them had intended for it to happen. But it _did_. She needed to know what was going on in his head. Was it eating him up the same way it had done to her? They needed to talk about it, if nothing more than to clear the air that he didn't have those feelings for her. Because if he had felt it too, and she let this go, she would never be able to forgive herself.

Hours ticked by, roses filled her vase, but Jim was seemingly doing everything in his power to stay away from his desk. It was only when he had gone to the restroom, no one else occupying the rest of the kitchen, that she had decided to essentially trap him there. With her heart pounding, nails digging into her clenched fists, she positioned herself casually outside the bathroom door.

His face went ghostly white as soon as the bathroom door flung open. With a slight nod and another one of those tight-lipped smiles, he had fully planned on passing her by. What he hadn't expected was for her tiny frame to step in between himself and the door, and the wave of overwhelming emotions that came with it.

She hadn't really anticipated having to do this. Really, she thought he would have at _least_ said hi. But instead, he was _literally_ trying to run from her. Her body was pressed up against the door, his own lanky frame now mere inches away. Her entire axis had been thrown off. She had to speak soon, or he would surely ask her to move.

"Um, hi," was all she could squeak out, eyes fixed on his chest in the same spot that she had lain hours ago. Suddenly, cheeks now hot, she was closing her eyes and swallowing in anticipation.

"Hello yourself." His eyes, also avoiding, were focused on the doorframe, far above her head. _You can do this, Halpert._

"So, uh, you came in late today, too?"

"Yup, nothin' gets past you, does it Beesly?" He allowed his eyes to drift to the top of her head. _Don't be a dick. She's not an alien life form._

 _At least he's cracking jokes. That's a good sign, right?_

"Party too hard last night or something?" Her eyes dragged slowly up, resting on his cheek. The same cheek that had been nuzzled against her head. She had to close her eyes again.

"Yeah, I guess you could say my friends like to go all out on Valentine's Day. Had a bit of a rough morning."

 _This is your chance, Beesly. Don't blow it._

"Oh really?" She gulped down the tears, willing her knees to stop shaking. "Why's that?"

The air between them was palpable. Thick. If she stuck her tongue out, she could taste it. How long did she allow this pause to last before she spoke? Did she dare make eye contact? She didn't have to, really. From where her gaze was fixed on his cheek, she could see the gleam of a tear forming in his green eyes.

"Pam, I…Listen I can't...let's not do this, okay?"

Her head dropped, body sagging, as a small, "Oh," escaped her. Whether it was a response to his defeating blow, or the tail end of a sob that she had been suppressing, she didn't quite understand.

He was back to his desk before she was able to respond any further.

She waited until he had left on a sales call before asking Michael if she could leave early. She wasn't feeling well. She needed to rest.

She had her answer.

The door to the car was barely closed before she finally released the sobs that she had been caging.

She really, _really_ was not looking forward to finishing this argument with Roy. After the emotional hell she had been through today, she couldn't take another round of this. Reluctantly, she fished her keys out of her pocket, taking as long as humanly possible to remove her shoes and coat, and hang up her purse. She was almost across the living room when she began to notice the environment that surrounded her.

Candles. Everywhere. Soft, classical music was playing in the background. Roy was standing in the middle of the room, wearing-a suit? When was the last time he had worn a suit? He was freshly shaven, clutching a rose in his hands. It was the last of the bouquet. With eyes wide, she approached him, reluctantly at first, hands shaking, knees trembling. He closed the gap for her, tentatively at first, but after gulping, he gained more confidence.

"For you," he offered, smiling shyly as he hesitantly offered her the flower. "Did you like the rest?"

She was choking back tears, but this time, for a different reason. She had too much swimming in her head to decide which of the reasons it was.

"That-that was you?"

"Mhm," he nodded, offering a pursed smile. "Listen, Pammy, I royally screwed up yesterday. Honestly, I don't even know where to begin. You said 'no big gifts' and I decided for myself that that meant I could kind of push Valentine's Day to the wayside this year. I shouldn't've gone out last night, Pam. I shouldn't've gotten mad when you asked me to stay. I should have spent time with you and showed you how much I loved you. You deserve so much more than that. I know the flowers and the candles don't necessarily make up for all of that, but I hope you know that I truly am sorry. I wanna make it up to you."

This. _This_ was where she belonged. With this man from her childhood, the one with whom she had grown up. Everybody made mistakes. Comfort and security warranted sanctuary for a reason. She didn't need to press the issues with Jim, didn't need to continue wondering why he had blown her off, had shoved her feelings away. This was her answer.

They embraced, his stocky figure absorbing her whole.

As they lay in bed that evening after making love, Roy spooning her petite frame, he whispered softly against her curls.

"God, Pammy, I don't know what I would've done if something had happened to you last night."

"I know, baby. I'm sorry that I didn't call you."

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're safe." He hugged her tighter around the waist, almost rendering her breathless. "Listen, you should feel free to have fun with your girlfriends whenever you want. But if you're gonna spend the night, just give me a head's up, okay?"

She nodded slowly against his chest, feeling his breathing slow as his _Love you, baby_ vibrated against the back of her neck.

Hours later, in the quiet hours of the middle of the night, she awoke with a start.

Something was wrong.

Or rather, something was _off._

The hands clasped around her waist were too wide. The beard at her neck scratched, irritating her skin. The body wrapped around her was a hot box, uncomfortable.

She had made a choice today.

But was it the right one?


	14. Chapter 14

"You're an idiot."

Mark's beer was jutted towards Jim as he maneuvered his way into a chair at their round kitchen table, straddling it backwards as he joined his somber friend. When Mark had arrived home from work, he had stumbled upon a puffy eyed, bleak-looking Jim sitting at the kitchen table, a heart-covered sock clutched between his fingers. After passing a raised eyebrow to his downtrodden friend, and watching his body positively deflate, Mark's ears were flooded with the most tragic tale he'd ever heard. As Jim wrapped up his account of the past twenty-four hours, Mark grabbed himself a beer-Jim declining the offer for his own; something about _never wanting to drink ever again_ -and settled in to set the sullen man straight.

"Halpert. You can _not_ tell me that after all that happened, you actually _froze her out?_ "

Jim wouldn't make eye contact. He was too busy pulling the sock between his fingers, rotating it around its rectangular shape. Mark reached across the table, plucking the cotton square from his friend's grasp, and haphazardly tossed it somewhere in the living room, eliciting from Jim a deep, drawn-out sigh.

"C'mon, man. What do you expect me to do?"

His eyes, rimmed in shadows, pleaded his case for release. _Just let it go. I've already had enough of this today._

But Mark wasn't in the business of watching his friend's heart shatter anymore. If Pam had come over to their home on Valentine's Day and spent their time together making overly intentional efforts to connect with him, there was no way he was about to let Jim pass this opportunity up.

"Uh, talk to her, dude," he chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. "Maybe stop being a coward."

The eyebrows dressed in question and confusion urged Mark to continue pleading his case.

"Jimmy boy. You _spent the night_ with the girl. That _has_ to _mean_ something. Avoiding her forever is going to be _really hard_ when she works five feet in front of you. She cornered you at work to talk to you about it. You've got a fifty-fifty shot. For you all you know, dude, she wanted to talk about how much she loved it."

"If only, man. If only."

Swigging the rest of his beer, Mark knew that he had done all that he possibly could. Knowing that Jim would need some time to process, he retreated to his bedroom with a fresh beer and a bag of Doritos.

It was almost two AM.

Mark had long since gone to bed, but Jim was still wide awake. Or rather, his _mind_ was awake. His body screamed with exhaustion, begging him to succumb to any form of rest. Instead, he found himself perched on the edge of the couch, elbows pointed on his knees, hands clasped under his chin. Staring into darkness. Thinking.

Thinking about Mark, and the words that chased each other around his head like symbols in a cartoon after a character had been knocked on the head. In a way, he had suffered his own blows today. Mark was right. He was a fucking _coward_. The sheer desperation in Pam's eyes, willing him to say something, _anything_ about what had transpired between them, haunted his thoughts. _Should_ he have said something? Opened his mouth with more intent than to push her away, to make her forget the undeniable amount of questions that she would've asked him?

He couldn't handle the sea of emotions anymore. He needed an outlet, a distraction, something, _anything_ to do that wasn't _thinking about her_.

He took the stairs two at a time, retrieving his laptop from where it sat on his desk. was _absolutely_ mindless enough to divert his muddled cognition.

As the machine whirred, booting up to his home screen, he realized that he was still logged in to AOL, his status changing to _online_ as soon as his computer sprang to life. The only three people online were Jim, his old college roommate Parker, and Pam.

Of **_course._**

His head thudded to his keyboard, the glowing screen yelling in mockery as he pondered his options.

He could log off, set his laptop on fire, and hurl it off a bridge.

 _Too harsh?_

He could just log off of AOL and fire up an online escape room like he had planned.

Or, he could stop avoiding her, grow a set of balls, and say hello.

Taking a deep breath, he summoned every lasting ounce of courage in him and poured it into his fingertips.

 **JHalp18:** hey

 _That_ was exhausting.

 **ARTsly24:** hi yourself. whats up?

 **JHalp18:** nothin much. staring out into space and contemplating the meaning of life. you?

 **ARTsly24:** about the same, actually. couldn't sleep.

 **JHalp18:** yeah, me neither

 **ARTsly24:** jim?

 **JHapl18:** yeah?

 **ARTsly24:** I hated today

 ** _ARTsly24 is typing..._**

The air in his lungs caught in his throat. Pressure in his brain thrummed, bulging his eyes out to a point of immense strain.

 _What does_ that mean? This was a stupid idea. Fucking stupid! I should just log off right now before I douse this thing in kerosene.

He wasn't in the mood to hear, or rather _read_ , some spiel about _not wanting to ruin the friendship_ and how he had _no idea how much he meant to her_. He would rather pitch himself off a cliff than watch those words manifest onto his computer screen.

 **ARTsly24:** i hated that you wouldn't talk to me today. it sucked, halpert. it really friggen sucked.

What had gotten into her? Who was this mythical "Pam Beesly who spoke her mind" and what had she done with the woman who had bowed out on the deck of that boat when she had been almost _certain_ that he was about to make a confession? She saw **_JHalp18 is typing…_ **appear and disappear more than once. Jaw set, she continued her admission, needing to cease the track that they were on, the track that was quickly approaching a point where she would most certainly lose him.

She couldn't lose him.

 **ARTsly24:** if me coming over last night was an intrusion or something, then i'm really sorry. i honestly didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. because the truth is, jim, i had so much fun last night. i don't want you to think that you can't talk to me or something. i just don't want you to hate me. i couldn't deal with that.

His stomach positively dropped. How could he _ever_ hate her?

 **JHalp18:** i could never hate you pam. you have to believe me when i say that.

The urge to pick up his phone and call her, to drive over to her house and explain himself, was suddenly overwhelming.

 **ARTsly24:** then what was with the silent treatment?

 _I couldn't handle telling you how good it felt to wake up with you in my arms, all for you to tell me that we're just friends?_

 _I didn't want to cut myself open for you just to have you take that same knife and use it to rip my heart out?_

 _I don't want to take the fantasy in my head of you one day loving me back and crush it with the reality that you never will._

 **JHalp18:** um, i don't know pam.

 **ARTsly24:** yes you do. dont give me that.

Well, she was certainly persistent. He'd give her that.

 **ARTsly24:** come on, jim. seriously. if i did something, i want to know. i want you to tell me so i can say im sorry and make it better.

He had to start somewhere. Taking a deep breath, he let his thoughts filter through his keyboard.

 ** _JHapl18 is typing..._** ok, honestly pam? after we woke up this morning, i was afraid youd think it was all awkward, and i really really did not want to lose you as a friend because you thought i was like trying to come onto you or something and

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, he backtracked. He wanted to answer her question as honestly as he could without the outright admission that he was in love with her.

 **JHalp18:** ok, beesly. you want honesty? here we go. after we woke up this morning, i was kind of scared that you would think everything was all awkward between us, and rather than having _that_ awkward conversation, i decided id just cower in a corner instead. so. cats out of the bag. jim halpert is a big fat coward. and he hides behind his aol screen instead of telling this all to his best friend in person. and its been making him crazy all day long. and he hated not talking to her too. and hes really really sorry. and also, he really has to pee so he'll be right back.

The "pee" excuse wasn't entirely a lie, but more than anything, he truly just wanted to remove himself from the view of his computer screen, knowing that watching **_ARTsly24 is typing…_** pop in and out of the chat window would actually teeter him off the edge of sanity. He took way too long washing his hands, and decided to adhere to a routine that he _never_ completed by brushing his teeth before bed. His pleasure was quickly replaced with disappointment as he returned to his seat and was met with three soul crushing words.

 ** _ARTsly24 is typing..._**

Seconds later, seconds that had disguised themselves as hours, a paragraph of purple text filled his screen.

 **ARTsly24:** ok. so. where to start. um. i hope you had a nice pee! too much? confession: pam beesly is also a coward and really wants to get this right so she is stalling. okay. deep breath. do you like how im creatively dodging the point? okay. here we go, halpert. buckle up! waking up this morning was only awkward because i didnt know where i was when i woke up, and then we ran around the living room all frantic and stuff and i basically did a walk of shame out of your house. ok i lied, it was awkward for two reasons: the other reason was that i thought _you_ thought it was awkward, and that i made you super uncomfortable because we were basically, like, cuddled on your floor, and i didnt want you to think that i like, came over and got you drunk on purpose or something. i really enjoyed hanging out with you yesterday jim. i dont remember the last time i had that much fun. well, actually, i can. the last time i had that much fun was when i hung out with you last weekend. so please dont go thinking that i dont want to hang out with you okay? because i really dont know what i would do if my best friend stopped talking to me and hanging out with me. we could obviously stop the cuddling if you wanted because im pretty sure thats like 90% of the reason you havent talked to me all day. but honestly jim, i dont know why it freaked you out so much because contrary to what your bony body might suggest, youre actually quite comfortable. regardless, im sorry i subconsciously used your body as a pillow last night. i am not, however, sorry for making sure you didnt get hypothermia of the foot. i honestly dont think youd do well with a peg leg. so. im sure youre probably drooling on your computer right now. sorry i rambled. please dont make me go an entire day without talking to you again.

She was quite satisfied with her response, flexing the cramps out of her fingers as she awaited his reply.

After Roy's declaration, a passionate love making session, and hours lying in bed talking, he had fallen asleep, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips. But Pam's thoughts still haunted her. _Had_ she been disappointed upon entering the house to find that the roses had been from Roy? Were the promises that poured from his lips as they laid in bed registering to her as false, empty? Was the discomfort that she sensed while his arms encased her stemming from the longing in her soul to have a different set of hands burning hot against her skin?

She'd said it without saying it. The ball was in his court now. While she _did_ feel a pang of remorse for hiding behind a computer screen, she sensed that he was as grateful as she that they were both in their own homes, rather than standing face to face, where the redness of their cheeks would be fully on display. As she watched **_JHalp18 is typing…_ **pop on and off her screen, her thoughts wandered, winding down a path that contemplated what pajamas Jim was wearing as his slender fingers responded to her message.

 **JHalp18:** wow beesly, breathe in between words much? im kidding, obviously. god you have no idea how good it feels to know that we were both feeling awkward because we thought the other person was feeling awkward. does that then, in fact, negate the awkwardness? i have to assume so. because i wholeheartedly agree, and am dropping the gavel that we dont spend another day not talking. awkwardness officially lifted! while i appreciate your concern for my hypothermia, im going to executively table the discussion on cuddling because if im being honest, my brain capacity is not up to handling that right now, although i will echo your compliment by saying that you too are a very comfortable tiny person. i dont want to stop having fun with you either, beesly. but my eyes are literally struggling to stay open as im typing this. i think im gonna have to call it a night.

 **ARTsly24:** :-) talk to you tomorrow?

 **JHalp18:** i see what you did there. absolutely. good night, pam.

 **ARTsly24:** goodnight, jim :-)

 **JHalp18:** oh! beesly, i almost forgot! on the topic of foot hypothermia, and also walk of shame talk, you left your sock here. one might make the assumption that you did that on purpose so that you could have an excuse to come back, but ill chalk it up to your secret desire to have a peg leg.

 **ARTsly24:** i was wondering where that went! my left foot was FREEZING on my drive home! however, im going to debunk your theory right there, halpert. i have never, nor will i ever, desire to have a peg leg. im more of a hook girl. if i ever leave a glove at your house, youll know whats up.

 **JHalp18:** lol, ill keep that in mind.

 **ARTsly24:** make sure you wear socks to bed tonight please!

 **JHalp18:** will do. goodnight beesly.

 **ARTsly24:** sweet dreams :-)

 **ARTsly24 has signed off.**

Slipping a pair of socks over his feet, Jim smiled. His dreams would surely be sweet tonight.


	15. Chapter 15

Jim was on a date.

It wasn't that he wasn't _allowed_ to go on dates. He was a grown, _single_ man. He could do whatever the hell he wanted.

But why, _why_ was it _bugging_ her so much?

 _You're_ engaged, Beesly. _Snap out of it! Let the man be, put the wine down, and stop feeling so sorry for yourself._

With the television serving as lonely background conversation for her clouded thoughts, she did the opposite of her inner coach, and refilled the glass, whose crisscrossing fingerprint smudges were like footprints that dictated the course she had traveled that night. The first set, firm and clear, represented the first ten minutes of Roy being out of the house. Poker night for him. Finally time _for her_ to let the tension from the week seep from her body. But as the alcohol crept into the cracks, it began to expose all that she had been keeping bottled up.

Pam's only goal that day had been to make one kid like her. Where she had failed, Jim had succeeded, not only winning the attention of Abby, but the affection as well. And he had done it so effortlessly. She watched two different movies play out that afternoon: one with Roy as the lead role, giving noogies and throwing cheap uppercuts at Meredith's son. Flashes of her own future children, bruises from wrestling, and many fevered, "Don't tell your mom I let you do that's," burning in her cheeks.

Glass number two gave her a glimpse into a future that wasn't too far down the road.

Friday nights left alone with young, stocky boys, who spent their evenings tackling, wrestling, and inevitably leaving _something_ broken by the time the minutes counted down to bed, quiet only blanketing the house a good hour after they had finally settled down. Her husband, keeping to his "manly traditions," at a poker game or a bar somewhere on the edge of town. She couldn't have too much to drink, knowing he would probably call her to come pick him up. Which meant calling the neighbors to sit in the living room while the boys slept. But it didn't matter. He'd probably wake them up when he came trudging through the house, half in the bag, anyway.

Saturday mornings spent outside, boys too young for motor sports zipping and zooming on four-wheelers and jet skis, sending her heart into a constant state of fear.

She shuddered at the thought, twiddling her engagement ring with apprehension.

The second film conjured that afternoon starred Jim Halpert. He was not only softer, kinder, but so _damn natural_ in the way he effortlessly interacted with the children around the office.

The third set of smudges on the glass walked a bit further from their predecessors, fingerprints becoming looser and more illegible as the grip on the glass mimicked, wandering with her mind back to Valentine's Day.

To basketball t-shirts with the last name Halpert stitched into the back.

To Saturday afternoons with gangly, shaggy-haired boys all piling into the minivan after basketball games had concluded, the stench mildly under control because she had remembered to pick up a new vent clip _before_ the weekend this time. They'd all bunch into a booth at Alfredo's and order the largest pizza on the menu, but the boys would still fight playfully over the last slice. They would be well mannered. Say please and thank you. Win the waitress over with that trademarked Halpert grin.

It would be warm enough for just a hoodie, and hers would say _HALPERT_ across the back. She wouldn't be choosing favorites with the number. They would all be at different ages, on different teams. And they'd all take after their father. The _HALPERT 18_ clan would be a running joke with the other parents, but she would beam each time she saw the boys all lined up next to one another.

Their father included.

 _He_ would be there, not just for the big moments, but for everything in between.

Glass number four's prints were far more difficult to find, smudging more like lines across a page, smeared indescribably as she slugged back the liquid in great heaps. It was finished in three maneuvers of the warm glass to her lips. With its conclusion came hazy images.

But he _wasn't_ there.

He was on a date.

Probably right now, in fact.

Glass number four fabricated countless scenarios. Whether the nausea, creeping upon her like a slow moving fog, stemmed from alcohol or the impending _what if_ game, she was unable to comprehend.

Was she pretty?

Did she laugh at all of his jokes?

Did that half smile of his send a chill down her spine that met in tingles in the bottom of her belly?

Where had he taken her? He was such a gentleman. They were probably out at a fancy, expensive restaurant. There was bound to be candlelight somewhere.

He'd open the car door for her on the way in and out. Pull out her chair when they arrived. Stand up if she left the table to powder her nose, and again when she returned.

He'd pay for the check, insisting almost obnoxiously that she put her wallet away, feigning offense that she had even brought it in the first place.

Would he kiss her goodnight on her doorstep?

Would she invite him inside?

And that was where fingerprints from glass number five had lain, barely registering, because the glass was only in her clutches long enough to down the entire glass in one numb dose, its medicinal properties necessary for the hell she was putting herself though.

She was entirely loose now, her body warm and tingly. She giggled, as she trudged into the kitchen, at the thought of how closely her footsteps echoed Roy's constant drunken plodding. The emptiness of the bottle brought a sadness, heightened entirely by the fact that its previous contents coursed through her veins like lightning to a tree. Releasing a displeased, "Humph," she padded, head sunk low, and threw herself obnoxiously into the couch, sinking deeply into its cushions.

It was 11:30. Would Jim be home by now? She pictured him, his long legs stretched across the coffee table. He would probably be wearing those grey sweatpants that she had become so familiar with. What would his t-shirt of choice be? Closing her eyes, she mentally thumbed through his t-shirt drawer-he didn't keep them in the closet, she decided-and selected that faded burgundy shirt, the golden knight logo worn from age, the white letters of his last name screaming proudly from the back.

Or would he be without clothes, buried deep within a woman whose last name he probably didn't know?

Would they be in his bed? Cuddled upon that same couch that, not long ago, had been molded to her body?

Would they have even made it upstairs? Could he be making love to another woman on the living room floor, in the same spot where he had so recently been wrapped around her?

The tears poured violently, angrily landing in her lap, flinging from her fists as she tried to knock them away. She shouldn't be sad. She had a _fiance_. Jim was entitled to date whoever the hell he wanted.

So why were her emotions crashing around her like a train wreck?

Why was she longing to be the woman whose body he was wrapped around?

Why were her sides tingling in remembrance of the way his fingers had clutched so possessively around her?

 _Maybe Jim knows!_

In any sober state of mind, she knew that Jim always had the answer. In her drunken stupor, Jim should _definitely_ be able to answer why she was missing him so badly.

Her fingers fumbled on the hard plastic of her phone. It took her two tries to open it, and three to find his name and press _SEND_. Apprehension bubbled to the tips of her skull like water boiling on the stovetop. He picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

" _JIM!_ "

"Hey, Beesly. What's goin' on?" followed a throaty chuckle. He sounded relaxed, which quelled her tension immensely. A stupid grin took up residence between her ears.

"Oh, nothin' much." Her words slurred from a mixture of alcohol and giddiness that he had actually answered her call. "I didn' wake you up, Jim, did I Jim?"

Another chuckle. Another pulse flashing through her entire body.

"No, _Pam_ , you did not wake me up, _Pam_. It's Friday night. If I went to bed this early, I'd be checking my _self_ into a nursing home."

Her giggles radiated throughout the living room, bouncing off walls, echoing back to her own ears. Her body folded at the center in reaction to his words.

" _HeyJim_ ," she slurred, regaining composure enough to focus on the mystery that she had conjured. "What are you _wearing_?"

Though her words dripped with laughter, he interpreted their meaning in an entirely different manner. His groin twitched, as one fleeting image of her laying in bed on the phone, fingers from her free hand dragging from her abdomen slowly towards her panty line, danced in his mind. Shaking his head, he came to a sudden realization.

"Beesly, are you _drunk?_ "

Suddenly, the rosiness and heat in her cheeks was no longer from the alcohol.

"Um. Um. Maybe a little?" Initially, she had wanted to be quick to defend herself. But it was short lived, as the words that tumbled past her lips were not her own, but those of Pinot Grigio.

"How much is a _little_?" His casual tone transitioned quickly into concern. The shy embarrassment washed over her, causing new tears to bubble. Jim shouldn't be worrying about her.

"Maybe, like, _the whole bottle_." The final words in her sentence rushed together, as if trying to camouflage, hiding from his impending judgment. Her voice hitched, revealing to him her state of true sadness.

"The whole bottle? Whole bottle of _what_?" From the relaxed, lounged position that he had taken up on his couch, he sat bolt upright, heat settling into his hands, spreading throughout his body when she took too long to answer.

"Pam, are you okay? Is Roy with you? Do you need me to come get you?"

"I-'s just wine, Jim. I'm okay. Kinda a little dizzy, but not so bad."

"Are you sure, Beesly? You don't sound like you're okay."

The quiet timbre of his voice, which had dropped an octave, dripping like honey, scared her. Not in the sense of being frightened, but in the way it made her body go completely numb. The concern, the care, oozing from his words like resin from a tree.

"Pam? Are you there?"

She nodded, catching herself after the fourth, realizing that he couldn't actually see her.

"I jus...I just called because I missed you, Jim. But I don't know why. Jim, why do I miss you?"

It was Jim's turn to be silent.

 _It's the alcohol talking._

 _You read your phone wrong and it's not Pam on the other end._

 _You're dreaming._ At this, he pinched himself. _Ow. Dumbass._

Her voice was so tiny that he barely registered the choked, "Jim?"

"Hey. I'm still here."

He needed more time to process.

"Okay. I was jus' wondering. You always have the answers to all of my problems, ya know? You're like an encyclopedia. A Jim-cyclopedia!"

He was grateful for the laughter; anything to split up the ache inside of him, the longing desire to head to her house in his sweatpants and bury her head in his chest, to have her nestled up against him, right where she belonged.

"Wow. I am _truly_ honored, Pam. Really. But, to tell you the truth, I don't really know why you miss me. If I had to take a wild guess, though, I'd have to say that it's probably because you were super jealous of how the kids seemed to flock to me today, and you wanted some pointers."

As he dismissed her as casually as he could, needing desperately to not go down this road tonight, his concern returned.

"Seriously though, Pam. Are you okay? Are you with someone else? I'm more than a little worried right now."

He was worried. About her. Why? Why was he always so worried about her? _Was she safe? Did she get home okay?_

"Why?"

"Um, why what?"

"Why are you _wor-ried_?"

His tone became stern, something she'd never experienced directly before, outside of a joke, at least.

"Honestly, Pam? Because. You're jumping all over the place with this conversation, you're slurring like a madman, and you said you drank an entire bottle of wine, _by yourself,_ and the last time I checked, you were a pretty tiny person. I just want to make sure you're going to be okay."

Silence.

He was right, she'd give him that. But that didn't answer her question, the driving force behind this entire phone call. _Why did she miss him?_

"Beesly, I'm being serious right now. I'll drive across town to come check on you if I have to."

" _Yes._ You should do _that._ B'cause then I wouldn't have to _miss you_."

His entire body tensed. He was ridgid from his toes to the top of his matted hair. Thinking that, maybe the first pinch hadn't awakened him from some sick dream, he tried again, a biting sting telling him that this was, in fact, _real._

"Pam." His voice was ragged, throaty. "You need to tell me right now: _are you okay_?"

"D'pends on what _okay_ means." Her reply mimicked him in the manner of her voice, thick and deep.

He had to catch, no-to _find_ -his breath, before he spoke, praying that his body would calm down, that the tension in his lap would settle.

"You just drank an _entire_ bottle of wine. Do I need to come make sure that you're going to wake up in the morning?"

"Mmm mmm, no." Her head darted from side to side, eyes clenched shut as she willed the tears back into the ducts that they came from. "I'm not _sick,_ Jim. I'm just _sad._ "

That didn't make him feel _any_ better about the situation.

"Sad about what? Pam, c'mon, talk to me. Is it Roy? Pam, do you need help?"

"I need help figuring out why I'm so sad, Jim. And why I miss _you_. And why I _don't_ miss Roy."

That about did it.

He couldn't _sit_ any longer. Had to stand. Had to _pace_. Had to run his fingers through his hair, lift his head and hands to the sky, and beg for the right words to be sent to him.

He could _not_ fuck this up.

"Hey," he said finally, words squeaking through his tightened throat. "You don't need to be sad. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"But you _did_ , Jim." Confusion in her silence. "You went out on a _date_ tonight." And sudden clarification, followed by a crashing wave that nearly brought him to his knees.

The iron curtain hung between them, breathing and the occasional choked back sob pulsing here or there.

"I did. You're right," was all he could come up with. Although, if he was being honest with himself, he hadn't really considered it a date. Sure, Brenda was decent looking. But as he sat across from her at the table at Cooper's, he was under this strange impression all night that he was sitting at the wrong table. Who was this woman? Why was she eating dinner with him?

"Why?"

And here was that shy, sad, little girl again. She liked to ask questions when she drank. He knew that. But he wasn't prepared for this assault. Not tonight. Not when he had been doing _so well._

He coughed. "Why what?"

"Why did you go on a date with her?"

 _Because I couldn't stand watching you plan your wedding in front of me._

 _Because watching you detail the ways in which you're going to give your life to him makes me physically ill._

 _Because no matter how many different ways I try to distract myself, you are still all I see._

"Where did you take her?"

He realized then that it had been too long since he had failed to respond. He had to do this. She threw her relationship around in the office. Why shouldn't he?

"Uh, I took her to Cooper's. And then we went home."

" _We_ went home? Oh _shit_ , Jim. Is she still there? I'll hang up-"

"No! No, Pam, she isn't still here. Never was. We actually drove separately. I've been home for a couple of hours."

"Jim?"

"Yeah?" He felt the word in his throat, but wasn't sure he'd heard it himself.

"Did you kiss her goodnight?"

Her words sighed, barely escaping her lungs. It was as if she was waiting on bated breath for his answer.

"No. No I didn't. I gave her a hug goodbye and she left."

"Oh." A pause, and then, "Did you want to?"

"No."

He had given up trying to beat around the bush. If she was going to have liquid honesty, he could pain his way through this, too. If he was lucky, she wouldn't remember this conversation in the morning.

"Why not?"

 _Because our conversation held the consistency of a business dinner?_

 _Because she, in all honesty, wasn't that attractive?_

 _Because she isn't you._

"I-I dont' know, Pam," he began, fingers threading through his hair, tugging a bit to remind himself that he was alive. "I didn't really feel a connection with her?" It was a question because he knew that his last thought was the true reason. Sure, he was correct in the sense that there had been literally no connection. But that was all due to the underlying principle: _She. Wasn't. Pam._

"Oh. 'm sorry your date didn't go so well, Jim."

"Thanks, Beesly," he breathed back, a smile creeping into his words. She could change temperaments at the flick of a switch.

"You're _welcome_."

After another extended silence, he had to itch the scratch.

"So, are you still sad?"

He pictured her head flopping to the side, eyebrows scrunching together, lips pursing, as she pondered his question.

"I _am_. But not as much."

"Oh? Do tell, Beesly." He had the slightest inclination that he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be pressing her for answers when she was so clearly _drunk_. But she had called _him_. Had _initiated_ this conversation. He heard his mother's voice in the back of his mind, saying, " _'She started it' isn't an excuse, Jimmy!_ " But much like his childhood days, he didn't care.

"Well, I'm not so sad about your date anymore, but 'm still a little sad that instead of me hanging out with you, you went out with that frumpy corporate scarecrow."

He was finally experiencing a hearty laugh. If the situation were different, they'd probably continue ragging on the poor woman, but he needed to get back to the heart of the matter.

"What?"

"Nothin' Beesly. You just make me laugh."

"You make me laugh, too. And you always make me happy when I'm feeling sad. And sometimes," her voice dropped low, and she cupped her lips to the receiver, as if her lips were brushing his ear directly, "you kinda make me feel a lil' tingly."

The tightness in his boxers was back, as was his own _tingly_ sensation. _What_ the _fuck_ did _that_ mean?

"Um, tingly, Beesly? I think you might be thinkin' of the wine."

"Nope," she replied curtly. "I am _not_."

He urged her with silence, knowing that no words could possibly make it from his brain to his mouth right now.

"I think maybe that's why I miss you. 'Cause when I see you, I get all tingly inside. When I see Roy, all I feel is _blech._ "

He marveled through his chuckle at the way her drunkenness allowed her to be so candidly humorous. The sound effects were also a nice touch.

But at the same time, what was she essentially admitting here?

 _When I see you, I get all tingly inside. When I see Roy, all I feel is_ blech.

As he was about to continue prodding, she answered for him.

"I jus' wish it was easier, Jim. I shouldn't miss you, right? 'Cause I'm _engaged_." The word "engaged" dripped heavily with sarcasm. "So why do I?"

He couldn't answer her. He was too busy watching the flashing images scan before him.

 _Pam ending her engagement._

 _Roy, furious, but Jim standing strongly by her side._

Sweeping her up in his arms and finally, finallybringing their lips crashing together, holding her tightly to him, right where she belonged.

"I think...I think _you_ have to answer that question for yourself, Pam."

"No cheating from the Jim-cyclopedia?"

"No," he chuckled. "No cheating from the Jim-cyclopedia."

"Humph. Then _why'd_ I call you?"

He could see her throwing her free arm up in the air in exasperation, and was rewarded with a faint slap as it undoubtedly came crashing into her lap.

"I believe alcohol was involved." His mock seriousness was a facade for the urge to blurt _I'm fucking in love with you!_ into the receiver.

"I mean, i' _was_. But I was sad be _fore_ I opened up the bottle. So suck on that, Halpert."

He didn't know what to say, so he let his laughter trail longer than necessary. What _the fuck_ was going on here? It had to be some sort of twisted dream, right? But it _wasn't._ She was on the phone, _basically_ telling him that she had feelings for him, right? He couldn't just drive across town and go see her. But at the same time, if this moment slipped away, he didn't know if he'd ever get another one.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"I jus' wanted to let you know that, remember that one time when we accidentally slept on your floor?"

"Yeah," he chuckled.

"I really liked that. I jus' wanted to let you know that. And even though you're being a prick head right now and won't help me find out _why_ , I still miss you."

He couldn't take it anymore.

"Pam?"

"Mhm?"

"Is Roy home?"

His breathing was ragged, body tense and aching for her. His emotions were officially in control, as he stood and made it halfway to the door.

"No."

That was all he needed.

Feet absently slipping into whatever pair of shoes were closest to the front door-which just so happened to be his work shoes, that clashed rather horribly with his current pajama ensemble-he threw the front door open. The bitter wind knocked him almost off his feet, and while it didn't, it thankfully brought him back to reality.

He couldn't go over to her house.

She was _engaged._

She was _drunk_.

He wasn't that guy. He was better than that.

But as he slunk against the front porch railing, concrete cold against his bottom, his body was still aching, still urging and pulling him towards the car. Her quiet breathing on the other end pounded against his eardrum.

"Pam?"

"Yeah."

"I think...I think we both need to get some sleep, okay?" He cursed _every word_ that escaped his lips. They were not his. But they were the _right_ words, no matter how hard he tried to fight them.

"Okay." Her voice was so small, so distant, that he almost convinced himself that it would be _okay_ to make a dead sprint across town just to hear her voice.

"I just...You should really sleep, on...on _all_ of this. And you're going to feel a whole lot better in the morning if you just drink a glass of water and go to bed. Can you do that for me?"

"I think so." He heard her motions as she sat up from the couch, wobbled into the kitchen, and uncapped a bottle of water, proud of herself for only spilling a little.

"Let me know when you finish the bottle, okay? I want it all gone, Beesly."

"Yes sir, Captain Halpert, sir."

Well, she _had_ been proud of herself. Her salute with the water bottle sent a good amount of water to the kitchen floor. For a brief moment, she was in his kitchen, falling, but then caught, his strong arms enveloping her. Protecting her.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure?"

It wasn't about the water, or the going to bed. He knew what she was asking. He knew what he had to respond, no matter how contradictory the rest of his body was literally _screaming_ at him to say something different.

"Yeah, Beesly. I'm sure."

He heard a muffled, "Okay," and then the sound of glugging. "I'm all done." Plastic hitting the counter. More shuffling as she walked down the carpeted hallway. He could see the movements through her eyes: past the guest bedroom, the guest bath, the linen closet, into _their_ bedroom. He heard her crawling under the covers, her head hitting the pillow with a soft _thud_. A soft sniffle.

"You in bed?"

"Mhm." Another sniffle.

"Hey, don't be sad, okay?"

Fingers itching, _pleading_ to comfort her. To wipe the tears. To quell the pain that was threatening to overtake her. To pull her cheek against his chest so that she could feel the way his heart beat _only for her_.

"Mhm. I'll try not to."

Mouth agape, he looked to the stars as if the answer would form a constellation.

"Trust me. Once you get some sleep, you'll feel _so_ much better."

As he spoke, he felt the urge to at least be _near her_ tugging at his heartstrings. Once inside, he found himself laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, absently stroking the empty side next to him. Where she should be.

"Maybe better like 'not dizzy,' but I don't know so much about just _better."_

He choked down a sob, angry at himself for letting the tears brim.

"But when you wake up, you'll have a way clearer head. You can think through this stuff a lot better than you are right now."

"I don't know if I believe _that_ , but I feel like arguing with you will get me nowhere."

"Damn straight, Beesly," he chuckled. They sat in content silence, listening to one another's breathing, before he chalked up enough courage to finally just _say it._

"Hey, Pam?"

"Yeah?"

"If it's any consolation, I really, _really_ miss you too."

The words were strangled, coming out in scratches against his throat, twisted with the cry that stuck to his lungs.

"You do?"

"I do."

Although she was far from sober, walking around and downing a bottle-well, _three quarters_ of a bottle-had cleared her judgement, if only a little.

 _You should be here_ , and _I wish you were laying next to me right now,_ and _You were right. I should break up with him_ all crossed her mind in a haze of alcohol and confusion. But what escaped her lips was entirely different.

"Hey! You never answered my question."

He sighed. _Yes I did, you knucklehead. I have no idea why you're so sad, but if I could make it go away, you know I would in a second._

"What are you wearing?"

Grateful again for her uncanny ability to bust open the tension before it broke around him, he let out a chuckle. He was wearing what he always wore to bed. Sweats and a t-shirt.

"Jesus, Beesly, why are you so obsessed with my wardrobe?" he chortled back.

"Listen here, Halpert. If you won't help me figure out why I'm sad, at least indulge me a _little_."

 _Alright then. You win, Miss Beesly._

"Fine. You win. I'm wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. And socks, because I knew you'd yell at me if I wasn't wearing any."

"Right, on account of hypothermia."

"Yes, exactly."

This. _This_ was the easy part. The banter. The laughter. This was _home._

"But what _kind_ of sweatpants and t-shirt? C'mon, Jim, stop being so difficult."

"Uhh, grey sweatpants and one of my old basketball t-shirts. Why are you so intrigued?"

"The one that says HALPERT on the back?"

Eyebrows cocked, he pulled on the sleeve of his shirt and twisted his head to confirm that he was, indeed, wearing that same shirt.

"Yeah, why?"

"Good."

Her smile washed a wave of contentment throughout her body.

"Good?"

"Mhm. Good. Now I hafta go to bed, on strict orders from Captain Halpert. Goodnight, Jim."

Her _goodnight_ came out as a whisper. If he closed his eyes, she was laying next to him, her whispered _goodnight_ against his lips, his neck, his chest, instead of flowing through waves into his cellphone.

"Hey, Pam?"

"Mhm?"

She was on teetering on the edges of unconsciousness.

"Can you just text me in the morning? Let me know you're okay?"

"Of course."

His body relaxed, melting into the mattress as they whispered goodnights, the click of his phone and the _thud_ as it his the nightstand the only sound in an otherwise vacuum of silence.

Staring out his window through the slits in the blinds, he observed the calming twinkle of the stars.

"I miss you too, Beesly. I miss you too."


	16. Chapter 16

The last sound Pam had heard was the _thud_ of her cell phone colliding with the bedside table as exhaustion and alcohol had plummeted her body into a deep slumber. This _thud_ , however, was different.

Distant.

Insistent?

The red LED to her right blinked _4:37._ She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her furrowed eyes. The thudding repeated itself. Was there _really_ someone at the door?

 _Roy probably forgot his key again_ , she mused, swinging her legs to the side of the bed slowly, as she anticipated the impending heavy head and dizzy spells that usually accompanied a night of heavy drinking. Oddly, though, she felt quite at peace. Aside from the fact that she had been woken up, of course. Glancing down, she realized that, in her drunken haze, she hadn't changed out of the jeans and tank top that had replaced her drab work attire.

 _If he's going to wake me up in the middle of the night, he can wait._

She hated sleeping in jeans.

Slipping them off, and leaving them carelessly on the floor, she pulled on a pair of cotton shorts, slid her glasses behind her ears, and padded towards the door, still blinking the sleep from her eyes. As her bare feet moved across the carpet, she prepared her options for confronting him.

 _It's four o'clock in the morning, Roy! What the fuck?!_

 _Honestly, Roy, I'd rather you have just stayed at Darryl's. Maybe you've finally drank the rest of your functional brain cells away. I never thought I'd see it happen, but hey! Never say never!_

 _I'm not dealing with this shit tonight. You can sleep on the porch._

The knocking was growing more unrelenting as she neared the door. Braving her best "mean-Pam" face—which, in hindsight, wasn't much more than a pair of furrowed eyebrows and a sorry excuse for a scowl—she threw the door open quickly enough to wrap her arms across her chest. But the grasp that she had thought was firmly planted loosened almost immediately as her eyes adjusted to the sight on her front porch.

Standing on the top stoop, clad in only a pair of gray sweatpants, a faded high school basketball t-shirt, and—were those his _work shoes?—_ was a rosy cheeked Jim Halpert.

Suddenly, every hair on her body was upright, the goosebumps prickling in stark contrast to the heat that had instantly consumed her body upon seeing his lank statue on her front porch. His posture seemed almost on alert; arms hung at his sides with hands that were poised, his lips parted as if waiting for a cue to speak. Her own arms tensed in their folded position, her right hand snaking to flatten against her chest where her breath was caught in her throat.

She let a faint, _Jim?_ whisper past her lips, the word seeming to spell itself in the chilly air, the vapor floating to brush across his face. His eyes closed upon its contact, opening after only a brief minute without her in his sights.

"Is Roy home?"

"No."

And then it was nothing but hands on her body, full lips encasing her own, and heat, pure unadulterated _heat_ that absolutely consumed her from the inside out. His arms enveloped her, shrouding her back, taking away any and all distance as their bodies positively sealed together. His lips were warm and insistent, moving across hers passionately. One large hand snaked up her back, tangling under her hair to cradle her head to his as his mouth danced fervently with hers.

Suddenly, he was pulling back, dotting shorter and shorter kisses on her swollen lips as if trying to say that he didn't want the contact to cease, but knowing that he had to _say something._ With the pads of his fingers still lightly massaging the back of her head, he pulled them apart only enough to meet her gaze, the intensity in his forest eyes filled with a hunger that made her nerves stand on end. He searched her eyes, trailing his down her body, coming to rest at the pair of feet on the floor that were almost comedic in size comparison.

"You aren't wearing socks, Beesly. You're gonna catch hypothermia." His words were throaty, gravelly, shooting delicious sensations to her core.

Her _gulp_ resonated loudly in the otherwise muted room.

"I'll have to help warm you up. Wouldn't want you getting sick now."

Her nod—an invitation—almost unrecognizable to someone whose face wasn't mere centimeters in distance, began a series of movements that, to her, registered in flashes.

His hands clutching posessively to her hips.

Lips pressed together insistently.

Her body being moved urgently backwards, but always protected by him.

Stumbling through a doorway.

Knees hitting a bed that wasn't familiar.

Hands, _everywhere_. But not just his. _Hers._

His back muscles underneath her fingertips, the ridges so new and yet strangely familiar.

His chest warm, strong, firm.

His jawline so defined, but covered in stubble that was softer than she'd have guessed.

Another flash, and her head was being cradled by a pillow. His long figure atop her, covered, towered over her petite frame.

Another flash, and his lips were tracing the outer edges of her lips, her cheek, her jawline.

 _Flash._

Sucking at the crook between her throat and shoulder.

 _Flash._

Her own fingers tugging impatiently at the hem of his shirt.

 _Flash._

They were both topless, heat radiating between insistent bodies.

 _Flash._

Only thin cotton remained on lower halves.

 _Flash._

Her legs wrapped around him of her their own accord, heels digging into his ass, one hand spanning so little of his broad shoulders while the other clutched to the back of his head, begging to be closer.

 _Flash._

Her own bucking matched the rhythm that his hips had begun, his erection grinding against her center as his lips continued their assault, breathing becoming lapses of panting as cotton friction became unbearable.

His lips ceased their assault of her neck, nose brushing slowly up her throat, as he met her passion filled gaze, eyes glowing in the dusky haze of the room.

"God, Beesly, do you have _any idea_ how long I've wanted to do this?"

It was her, this time, clutching to bring his head down, lips meeting more slowly this time.

Softer. Riddled with something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

They pulled apart. His eyes spoke the words for him, and with a nod of her head, the flashes began again.

 _Flash._

His lips stormed hers once again, this time more passionate than hungry.

 _Flash._

Undergarments disappeared as if waved away by a magic wand.

 _Flash._

His fingers teased at her entrance, making quick work of the wetness that awaited. She felt him harden more so against her thigh in response to the moan that escaped her.

 _Flash._

Fingers slipping out. Hands on her waist. A hunger in his eyes that she had seen in no man before.

 _Flash._

Noses touching, his fingertips caressing her face. She felt a tear meet his thumb halfway.

"You are _everything."_

He was inside her, filling a void she didn't know had been empty. They were moving together rhythmically, the pulsations deep within her quickening as she neared her climax.

 _Flash._

" _Everything."_

His fingers snaked between their bodies, their rhythm building her to quite possibly the most intense pleasure she'd ever imagined, as a new _thud_ interrupted her bliss.

And brought her crashing back to reality.

The fingers brushing up against her were not Jim's.

They were _Roy's._

The _thud_ was his large frame tumbling to their bed.

The clock blinked _4:37 AM._

His body, uncomfortably hot, stuck to her back as he spooned her, his growing erection digging painfully into her back through his jeans. His massive hands spanned her belly, itching at her waistband, as his stubble scraped down her neck, sloppy wetness dousing the cotton strap of her tank top.

The scent of alcohol was all encompassing, _overwhelming._

The growled words that itched her eardrum were incoherent slurs of _Pammy, baby,_ and _Feels so good_ and _Wanna be inside you._ Not necessarily in that order. But she'd heard it all enough to know the gist. And right now, she _was not_ having it.

Not quite sure where the forcefulness came from, she shoved her tiny hand between her back and his stomach and pushed, releasing his loose grip and toppling him to his own back. As she thrust her body into an upright position, the overwhelming sense of nausea and vertigo and pulsing in her temples collided together and took over. She was over the toilet before he had realized that she was out from under his fingertips.

As the contents of her her night spilled from her stomach into the cold porcelain, Pam tried her best to ignore the suffocating thoughts.

 _Was I just dreaming about_ Jim?

Sputtering. More vomit. Acidity burning her throat.

"Baby, yo-okay?"

 _It was so..._ vivid.

The smell, stinging her eyes. The feel of her frizzy, unkempt bed head, sweaty and matted to her forehead.

 _It was only a dream, but it felt so...No! You're engaged! Stop that_ right now _!_

Roy's feet, one tripping over the other, as he clopped across the carpet, landing with an enthusiastic _thud_ on the tile beside her.

"Pammy? Why-you pukin'?"

His eyes, positively bloodshot and red-rimmed, only visible through half-lids. His complexion wavered dangerously close to grey.

She knew what was coming.

As quickly as she could on her own unstable feet, she stood and backed out the door before his own retching sounds echoed throughout the bathroom. Tiptoeing delicately but urgently down the hallway, trying her best to quell the rising sickness in her gut, flashes of her dream stopped her between steps, rendering eyes shut, hands clenching at her stomach and head.

 _Is Roy home?_

Hands on her hips, snaking up her sides, tangling in her hair.

 _God, Beesly, do you have any idea how long I've want to do this?_

Lips hot on her skin, her neck, her shoulders. Cotton disappearing.

 _You are_ everything.

His eyes, so intense, full of passion, of longing.

 _Everything._

His hardness echoing his words, rubbing at her center, making her feel positively _alive._

She was on the floor in front of the guest bathroom toilet, not even bothering to throw the lid up as her head wavered into the bowl, hands clutching either side desperately as if it was the only thing keeping her grounded to planet earth. She was spent from puking, but the images in her mind, so irrefutable that she found herself wondering if they had actually happened, spun dizziness inside her body like the whirl of a carnival ride.

She had fallen asleep mere hours ago, but the telltale signs of _not quite drunk but not quite sober_ emanated throughout her body. Head pounding, palms sweating, conscious enough to be right in the head but being betrayed by her own body. The detached interest about her fiance, who was sick of his own accord in the master bathroom, was of her own accord. A passing thought in his direction didn't even register in her mind as she curled into a fetal position on the plush of the guest bathroom rug, closed her eyes, and tried her best to solidify the images conjured by her subconscious, cementing them as close to reality as she could.

Jim, waiting on her doorstep in the middle of the night.

Jim, with lips so soft yet unrelenting, hands so possessive yet wise.

Jim, who could speak volumes of passion with only his eyes.

Certain aspects of her dreams seeped into reality as she felt a wetness that had culminated from those dreams pool even more so between her legs, yet she didn't flush with embarrassment as she may have once before. In her fuddled state of liquor and desire battling for her attention, she gave in, and let her fingers dance below her shorts, images of only one man bringing her to her peak.

 _Jim._

* * *

After waking into middle of the night moments that riddled her with confusion, sleep had claimed her easily. Albeit in an odd location: she awoke several hours later on the bathroom floor. Opening eyes to an incredible fog, she observed that with a little bit of luck, her face was at least nestled under the bath mat. Her body, still curved so small and childlike, was less fortunate, and would no doubt be peppered with criss-crossing indentations from the cold tile. Eventually, through a slow and painful urge of her brain to begin processing at a normal rate, she realized that she had been cloaked in softness, the chill on her otherwise tank-top-and-shorts-clad body repressed by the...bath towel?...that was draped over her tiny frame.

Roy.

Draped less than gracefully across what remained of the tiny bathroom floor. He was in an unrefined spread eagle position, drool dripping from his parted lips, one arm above his head awkwardly while the other draped across his protruding gut. He must have come to her rescue last night. In his drunken stupor, he had somehow remembered that he had essentially kicked her out of their bathroom, and had ended up here. As she slowly stirred, several snorts and jerkish movements from Roy responded to her slow and delicate stretches, the kinks and knots sure to scream at her throughout the day.

As she sat up, legs astride in front her as she gingerly lolled her head from side to side, Roy blinked bloodshot eyes several times, acquainting himself with his surroundings. His words spoke raspy through a tired smile as he lifted his head to meet her still fogged gaze.

"Looks like we both had a little too much fun last night."

Her smile was forced, tight lipped. Images of her night in comparison with what was probably his juggled in her head.

Roy, tossing back shots with the boys.

Pam, drinking herself into oblivion over _another man_ going out on a date.

Roy, consuming copious amounts of hot wings and nachos.

Pam, polishing off a bottle as she pictured her future.

Roy, drinking and laughing and ultimately paying the price when he arrived home.

Pam.

Going to...bed?

She rubbed her temples, frantically trying to pull images to her consciousness, while Roy chuckled, obviously only seeing a hangover at its finest.

She was...upset...about Jim going on a date. Right? The more she drank, the more upset she was. She remembered being upset. But... _why?_ Why had she been upset about Jim going on a date? And what had happened between twenty-five ounces of Pinot Grigio and waking up on the guest bathroom floor? With Roy propping himself up in front of her, she pushed the thoughts from her mind, willed the tears of frustration back inside herself.

"It's just like the good ol' days, Pammy!" he chuckled, reaching out his meaty hands to rub more harshly than he realized at her towel-clad thigh. He was, of course, referring to those nights in high school and college, when they would nurse matching hangovers after he had essentially coerced her into drinking one too many beers on a night out with more of his friends than hers.

Responding only in nods once again, she pinched her eyebrows together in the sudden realization that _these were the memories he held sacred._

Slowly, cautiously, she began to prop herself to her feet, feeling claustrophobic in the confined space, filled with too many thoughts and a scent that threatened nausea once again.

"I think I'm gonna go try and sleep some of this off," she mumbled, grabbing the frame of the door for support.

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea," he replied, massive hands cloaking her waist. The touch burned her, and not in the way she would've hoped that closeness from her fiance would've done. She actually choked a bit, blaming the rising bile on alcohol rather than surrendering to the fact that it was Roy who had made her feel that way.

With a shake of her head, and a fist to her lips, he got the picture.

She felt her way down the hallway, still almost completely blinded from lack of any visual aids, and sat on the edge of her side of the bed, registering just how little she had _actually_ slept. The red lights, still too bright in their faint glow, mocked her with the numbers _7:43._

"Hey, babe? I'm just gonna head to the guest room, if you don't mind. I'm really not feeling well, and just need to sprawl out and sleep a little."

His response was muffled in the pillow. He was already slinking back into unconsciousness.

Grabbing her phone, her glasses, and her own pillow, she found herself stopped at the doorframe of the guest bedroom. An immediate chill washed over her, although she couldn't place it. Guardedly, she slunk into the center of the bed, the cold replaced with a heat that was shockingly sudden. Her entire body was overcome by what could only be described as a hot chill: her skin riddled with goosebumps, but now a thousand degrees to the touch, and tingling.

Squeezing her eyes and fists shut so tightly that it was almost painful, she willed the sensation to disappear. What was happening? Why was this all so familiar?

Her dreamless, distressful sleep was interrupted four hours later by the vibrations of her cell phone, buried somewhere deep in the covers. It took her several attempts to fish it out of the folds, but when she finally accompanied the buzzing with her glasses, the bright light contrasted the dark shadows of the room to reveal something peculiar.

 _4 New Text Messages from Jim Halpert_

 _8:02 AM: Hey Beesly. Just making sure you're okay and that you remember your promise to let me know when you wake up._

 _9:43 AM: You're probably still sleeping, but text me when you're up, okay?_

 _10:34 AM: You alive over there?_

 _11:27 AM: Hey Pam. Jim again. Only a little bit worried sick over here. Hope the hangover doesn't have you praying to the porcelain gods. Please let me know that you're okay._

Heat pooled her cheeks and tingled to her toes.

As she racked her brain trying to fill the time between liquor and hangover, her thumb moved of its own accord to the _SEND_ button. Her last call log read:

 _Jim Halpert._

Tears welled in her eyes as she clicked _OK_ to read further information.

 _Outgoing Call_

 _To: Jim Halpert_

 _11:34 PM_

 _17 min, 42 sec_

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the tears stream to the comforter as she willed herself to remember any part of this.

Mechanically, she clicked back to her text messages and typed out a message that sounded so juvenile, she almost laughed.

 _Hey Jim. I just woke up. Sorry to worry you. I hate to admit this, but I don't remember a lot from last night…_

She had never wanted to _be_ this person: the girl who drank so much that parts of her night were lost in time. But here she was, with seventeen minutes and forty-two seconds unaccounted for. The only person with the answers was somewhere across town. As her mind drifted to his cozy little house with the comfortable sofa and inviting aire, flashes of grey sweatpants and the name "Halpert" in block letters suddenly attacked her. She pulled the covers back, frightened for a moment.

Suddenly, she found her thumb retracting the last part of her statement, pressing _SEND_ when the message read only, _Hey Jim. I just woke up. Sorry to worry you._

His response was quicker than she could gather her things from the guest room and reach the threshold of its closed doorway.

 _I am beyond glad, Beesly. Do me a favor and drink another bottle of water, okay? Throw in an omelette and a few aspirin while you're at it. Wine hangovers are a nasty monster._

As she wandered into the kitchen, observing Roy's body slumped half off the couch with the remote falling out of his hand, her body was drawn to follow each and every one of his orders. Fifteen minutes later, when she was lifting her breakfast to her mouth, she was unaware of the exact movements that were happening in a living not four miles across town, as his feet sprawled across that comfy brown sofa, acting as a table for his own breakfast.


	17. Chapter 17

Jim had grown pretty accustomed to not sleeping well.

Ever since that night on the lake, those twenty-seven seconds of unbearable silence _screaming_ at him to be brave but ultimately failing, his nights were a tangled amalgamation of _what-ifs_ that had done serious damage to his REM cycle. Tonight, however, was so eerily _different_.

He had gone to bed with a heart full of so many different emotions: a dash of hope, a sprinkle of fear, the pushing insistence of _action_. Around 4:30 he had woken with a start, faint memories of a dream fading almost as quickly as his eyes had snapped open. The only moments he had grasped onto were fuzzy images of a bed he didn't recognize, a body beneath his own, an overwhelming sense of _wholeness_. But they were gone as soon as he had drifted back into the few remaining hours of fitful sleep before his adult body dragged him out of bed at eight o'clock on the dot. Not two minutes later, with no new pending notifications, did he type out a quick message to Pam, encouraging her speedy recovery and gently reminding her to let him know that she was, indeed, okay.

Hours passed without a return, and he felt like a lovesick teenager as he clacked three more messages out over the span of his morning, which otherwise consisted of cleaning, grocery shopping, and tuning in to the first of many college basketball games, when she finally responded. A weight upon his chest only made itself present when he felt it lifting upon reading the words that said she was okay.

He let out a sigh then, sinking into the couch relaxedly, as he replayed their conversation from the previous night.

" _HeyJim. What are you_ wearing?"

" _Beesly, are you_ drunk?"

" _I just called because I missed you, Jim."_

" _I'll drive across town to come check on you if I have to."_

"Yes. _You should do_ that. _B'cause then I wouldn't have to_ miss you _."_

" _I need help figuring out why I'm so sad, Jim. And why I miss_ you. _And why I_ don't _miss Roy."_

Eyes clenching shut, his body went both tingly and numb, the details bringing new reality in the morning light.

" _Why did you go on a date with her?"_

" _Did you kiss her goodnight?"_

" _Did you want to?"_

While eyebrows furrowed, regret mounted within him. He'd take back every pointless, worthless, goddamn blind date he'd ever been on just to take away her pain.

" _Sometimes, you kinda make me feel a lil' tingly."_

" _When I see you, I get all tingly inside. When I see Roy, all I feel is_ blech."

His own tingles radiated from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. The waistband of a new pair of sweatpants grew suddenly tight.

" _I jus' wish it was easier, Jim."_

So do I, Beesly. So do I.

" _I shouldn't miss you, right? 'Cause I'm_ engaged. _So why do I?"_

" _I jus' wanted to let you know that, remember that one time we accidentally slept on your floor? I really liked that. I jus' wanted to let you know that._

And then it was her head cradled to his chest, her legs intertwined with his, her small arms wrapped up and around his body like she was clinging on for dear life. Her softness, her warmth, the smell of her hair as it invaded his nostrils.

With eyes still clenched and the twitching in his sweatpants growing more insistent, he sprang from the couch and headed straight for the shower. The cold blast surged him back into a reality that reminded him that she wasn't his, that her words had been the product of alcohol, had only been pried from her depths by accidental overconsumption.

But as soap tickled over the goosebumps on his skin, he connected dots of his own.

The words " _I was sad_ before _I opened up the bottle"_ ping-ponged loudly between his ears.

 _She'd been upset that he had gone out on a date._

The alcohol had only served to fuel her sadness, which in turn, pulled on his heartstrings to the point of physical pain in his chest. He had _caused her sadness_. However indirectly. The irony of the situation momentarily humored him: He was the man on the outside, the man in love with an engaged woman. An engaged woman who had been upset that he, the single man, had gone out on a date. And _he_ was remorseful. But the man on the _inside_ , the _fiance_ to said engaged woman, put her dow—not only _often_ —but with intent. Not maliciously, not out of spite, but because in their shared life, they knew no other way.

He pushed Roy from his thoughts, focusing his mind once again to her.

" _Jim, why do I miss you?"_

Her head on his shoulder.

" _I jus' wish it was easier, Jim."_

Feet intertwined, toes touching.

" _Yes. You should do that. B'cause then I wouldn't have to_ miss you _."_

With a forceful pull of the shower knob, his dripping body was standing over the sink, staring at the reflection of a man determined.

He had to tell her.

Whether or not she responded in his favor, he _had_ to tell her. Had to put the ball in her court. Unknowingly with her phone call, she had already gotten the ball rolling. She could do with the informations whatever she saw fit. But he couldn't go on like this, keeping this bottled up, any longer. As Jim gazed into eyes so hollow that he barely recognized them anymore, he knew that it was now or never.

He was finally going to tell her that he was in love with her.

—

That afternoon, she had dedicated herself fully to putting together the pieces of a night—or rather, a _phone call_ —lost in time. But the details just weren't coming. She could remember wanting to ask Jim a question, hitting the _SEND_ button. She knew they had spoken. But the contents of their conversation were vacant, an abandoned warehouse otherwise forgotten.

And it was driving her absolutely insane.

Her headache was the fault of frustration, concentration, and too much wine the night before; a poor combination for self-attempted recovered memory therapy.

As she willed her memories of the night to come back into focus, walking through every aspect that she _did_ remember, the sane and insane parts of her brain began a dialogue that the latter wasn't quite ready to face.

 _Okay, you were sad. But_ why _were you sad_?

Roy had gone out last night. But that hadn't brought tears to her eyes. Maybe _happy_ or _relieved_ tears, but certainly nothing somber.

 _Jim went out on a date last night. That upset you. Just admit it already. You were drinking because Jim went out on a date, and it wasn't with you._

The kitchen table seemed to grow, shrinking her in size as she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead upon praying hands, finally giving in.

 _Fine. I was upset that Jim went on a lousy date. But so what? What's that got to do with anything? She wasn't even his type!_

 _And how do_ you _know that? You don't even know who he went out with! You were upset_ before _you even opened that bottle of wine, Beesly. From the moment you heard him make those plans, you were upset. Own it._

 _Ugh! Fine! I was upset, okay? There. I said it. Are you happy now?_

 _Eh. Moderately._

 _You're_ impossible.

Her one stroke of luck came from the combination of hangover and March Madness that easily distracted her fiancé for the better part of the afternoon. Usually, this would've infuriated her. Today, she was grateful for the ambiance of snoring and squeaky shoes. He wasn't there to pull her from her ongoing inner monologue as she came head on to face one of the most impossible truths she'd ever known.

 _So. The question remains: why were you so upset? You have a_ fiancé _for crying out loud._

 _So?_

 _Jim is single. He can date anyone he wants to._

 _Don't you think I know that?!_

 _So why were you upset?_

White hotness boiled inside her like Vesuvius at its bursting point. Clenched fists pounded the kitchen table with a clatter as the unwashed breakfast dishes were disturbed by the vibrations.

"Because he should've been with _me."_

She hadn't meant to speak the words aloud. But there was no taking them back

 _You deserve so much more._

 _You should break up with him._

Phone conversation be damned, she was being hit square in the face with a reality that she hadn't yet seen.

And it _terrified_ her.

Immediately, her gaze shifted to the cheap excuse for commitment that encircled her left finger. She twirled the metal in a circle, body turning abruptly to face the couch—well, the _back_ of the couch—where she could just make out his arm dangling off its edge, his soft breathing and snoring sounds so familiar.

Roy was her fiance.

They were getting _married._

And yet, here she sat, torn into two contrasting pieces. One favored familiarity and comfort, fearing the unknown. Stagnancy was welcome, thrived upon. The other craved to fill the holes that she was only now starting to realize were there, empty spaces in her core begging to be whole again, with only one source of life.

 _No._

She _couldn't_.

She was on her feet, toying nervously with her necklace as she quickly closed the distance between herself and her sleeping fiance. Although he took up most of the couch from his sprawled position, her slight build still found a home on the corner near his feet.

The _right_ side of the couch.

 _No._

She pushed the thought from her mind, tucked her feet underneath her ever-shrinking body, and gingerly lay her fingers atop his forearm, running them softly through the thick hair, feeling goosebumps pop up under her touch. He stirred, the look in his eyes momentarily riddled with confusions as they adjusted, squinting to see the late afternoon time on the cable box before turning his head to see her perched above him.

"Hey, baby," he muttered, eyes closed in a slow blink as he reached the arm that she had been stroking around her shoulders. Immediately, she folded herself into his embrace, letting him pull her body flush against his back. He tucked her head under his chin. She shook off the discomfort, the sense that this just wasn't _right_ , and willed it to be okay.

"Damn, I slept the day away, huh?" he mumbled into the top of her head. She could only nod in response, her movement registering against his chest.

After several minutes of silence, neither of them truly focused on whatever program played absently on the television, he finally spoke again.

"This is kinda nice."

With his arm tucked under her chin, she gripped onto him more tightly, letting silence overtake them once again.

On any given day, those words would've made her heart soar, reminded her why she had chosen him all those years ago. But in this moment, physically _begging herself_ to _just enjoy it_ , she felt positively empty, void of all emotion.

She let herself fall asleep in his arms, waking to the cover of darkness as he got up to go to the bathroom, emptiness still echoing within her. The echo itself uttering one single, distinct syllable, its repeat thrumming wildly.

 _Jim._

It was in that moment that she made a decision.

She needed to see him.

Needed to make sense of all of this.

What had Roy said just the other night?

 _You should feel free to have fun with your girlfriends whenever you want. But if you're gonna spend the night, just give me a head's up, okay?_

She didn't need permission to hang out with her friends. But after she had spent way more time pampering herself in front of the mirror than she would ever admit to, and gathered her things, she found herself intentionally leaving out the part about it being Jim's place that she was heading to when she whispered into his once again dozing ear, "I'm heading to a friends for the night. Not sure when I'll be back."

At 7:42 PM, he was jostled from a restless nap on the couch by the ringing of his doorbell.


	18. Chapter 18

Making the decision to suddenly _tell Pam that he loved her_ was strangely simple. It was the execution of said plan that had Jim's mind and feet literally in a heated race to see who could cover more miles that day. He was sure that, by time Mark returned home with his girlfriend for the night, ("I call dibs on the living room tonight, brotha!"), there would be a sizeable hole in the floor, engulfing his body to the waist, from where he had been pacing fervently back and forth.

It wasn't as though he could just call her up. _"Hey, Beesly. How's it goin'? Enjoying this cold weather we're having today? Also, I'm in love with you."_

It couldn't be done at work, what, with her fiance three stories under their shoes. _"Oh my god, Beesly! That prank execution was_ flawless! _You are so great at this. God, I love you- oh, hey Roy."_ His lips puckered, cheek flinching a touch as he imagined the bafoon's fist colliding with his face.

He could do what he'd always dreamed about-late at night while lying awake in bed; on a random Tuesday while he mulled over his breakfast; driving home from visiting his parents every other Sunday evening; whenever he heard her giggle from 10 feet across the office and his heart grew four sizes larger in his chest cavity.

Sometimes in his dreams, they were on the beach, toes tangled in the sand while the sun set low over the water. Sometimes they were in Paris, the Eiffel Tower in the background, stars dotting the sky. Others, they were tangled up in the sheets, the morning light cascading halos around their heads that were so insignificant to the glow that positively radiated from the smile she cast.

While each of his visions differed, one part always remained constant. There would be a moment where the texture of the air around them changed, became somehow lighter than she had already made it. He would reach out and cup her cheek in his hand, her smile stretching into his palm as he gently stroked her soft skin with his thumb. The words would be written in his smile; she would know them before they became vibrations in the air. But he would say them all the same.

"God, I am so in love with you."

It had always been a dream, beyond his wildest fantasies. But all of a sudden, it was pounding on his chest, pulling at his hands and feet to _go_ , to _make it his new reality_.

She needed to know. Just _once_.

The problem was getting her alone.

He had no doubt that Pam's Saturdays were filled with one of two contrasting itineraries: She was either busy from dusk until dawn with her family or Roy's, or she was at home with literally nothing to do.

Based on her text message earlier, he knew she was more than likely participating in the latter.

Would she come if he called?

Sure, they'd had a pattern of hanging out over the past few weekends, but that didn't mean she was at his beck and call.

Maybe he was better off planning something, setting up a date with her to hang out, so that he could use their scheduled time to his advantage.

That plan seemed like the most solid idea.

He spent a good chunk of his afternoon online, searching for places in town that he could take her that was a comfortable balance between "we're just friends hanging out" and "I'm about to tell you the biggest secret I've ever kept." After relentless hours of searching, he was exhausted, and decided a Sports Center break had been earned.

Three hours later, he was being awakened by the ringing chimes of the doorbell.

She looked so tiny, standing there on his front porch, clutching her jacket tightly around her body. It was almost comedic, the childlike stature that she embodied, with her lips drawn down, eyebrows knit with confusion. As he opened his mouth, his eyebrows began to do the same.

"Hey." With one arm resting high on the doorframe, he lazily dragged his other behind his neck, rubbing nervously.

"Hi." She didn't meet his eyes, focusing instead on his bare feet, his long legs wrapped in soft, grey cotton sweatpants. As she finally met his eyes, noticing his rumpled hair and slowly unglassing eyes, her own eyes suddenly popped open, a deeper red springing to her cheeks.

"Oh my god, did I wake you up? God, Jim, I'm such an _idiot,_ I'm so sorry-"

She was interrupted by his chuckle.

"Nonsense, Beesly. If you hadn't done it, Mark and Kimmy would have, and _trust me,_ this is _so much_ more pleasant."

She returned his smile, though tight-lipped, as the wind picked up around her.

"Hey, why don't you come in out of the cold? We can continue this conversation in temperatures that are at least moderately above freezing."

She nodded curtly, following him inside the foyer that had become all too familiar in these past few weeks. A sense of comfort washed over her, seeming to melt the tension that had been mounting since this morning. As it poured out of her body, it transferred directly into Jim's. Not hours ago, he had been wondering how in the hell he was going to get her alone, get the chance to put it all out on the line. And somehow, by fate or luck or the hand of God, she had been delivered to his doorstep?

 _Here goes nothing, Halpert. Don't screw it up this time, pal._

She was here. She had gotten herself _here_. But now, they were standing in his foyer, not quite out of the hallway, not quite making a motion in one direction or another. She was here. But she quickly realized that she had no real plan other than making it past the doorway.

"You know, I should honestly be thanking you right now."

She let out a grateful sigh of relief when he broke the tension. Somehow, in her world, he always did.

"Oh yeah?" she retorted, a smile forming on her cheeks for the first time since she had arrived. "Why's that?"

"Well, because," he began. "I knocked out for an afternoon nap, and it's almost eight o'clock now. If you hadn't come knocking on my door, I'd probably still be sleeping, which means I'd wake up around one in the morning _wide awake_ , and then my sleeping schedule would just be _totally screwed_ for the rest of eternity. So, I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude, Beesly."

He ceremoniously bowed, and finally, _finally_ , she was giggling.

"You're very welcome." She curtsied in return, and followed him as he extended his arm towards the living room, "Shall we?" trickling past his goofy grin.

Still wearing her coat, purse still nestled on her shoulder, she took a seat on the couch. She was stiff, awkward, so contradictory to the way she usually felt on this couch. How _at home_ she usually felt on this couch.

"So," he said as he joined her, offering a glass of water that she gladly accepted. She needed something to do with her hands. "How's the hangover treating you?"

His lips were pulled up and to the side, his lopsided grin causing her to roll her eyes and groan and throw her head back into the cushy leather.

"I'm never drinking _again_."

"Doubtful, Beesly. _So_ doubtful."

Her smile was present before she opened her eyes and found him staring at her. He was sitting sideways on the couch so that he could face her, his right elbow pressed into the back of the couch so that his large palm could cradle the side of his head. His eyes, though still glossy, twinkled; his smile sent a shiver down her spine.

"But seriously, I'm glad you're okay. You were kind of out of it last night."

And here was her opportunity. Her one chance to put together the missing pieces of her night. To make sense of the gut feeling that she'd had since this morning that something in her life just wasn't quite _right_.

Immediately, her gaze dropped to the glass in her palms, fingers toying with the condensation that had already begun dripping down its sides. Suddenly, she was hot all over.

"Yeah…" her voice trailed off. How did she even _begin_ this conversation? Focusing more on the problem of her body's rapidly increasing temperature, she stood and turned her back to him, removing her coat and scarf carefully before folding them neatly and topping the pile in her lap with her purse.

"So, about that… Jim...god this is so embarrassing. I...I kind of don't... _remember_ much from last night."

Slowly, her eyes left their trained place on the rim of her glass and sought Jim's. While he tried so, _so_ hard to mask the hurt by keeping that smile plastered through the pain, his eyes told the true story. She wasn't sure why, but an immediate sorrow filled them, the hurt overwhelming his pupils.

"Oh."

And there it went.

As quickly as the opportunity had presented itself to Jim- _literally_ on his doorstep-it had slipped between his fingers. That one syllable was all he could muster, incapable of formulating anything else to say to her. Their conversation on the phone had been flushed down the toilet with the rest of her night. Memories faded in the wind.

"Actually, the uh...the reason I came here tonight was...I wanted to see if...if you could maybe fill in the blanks for me?"

Her words were so tentative and small, her gaze focused once again on the rim of her water glass.

But no matter how small she looked, how hopeful she was that he could repair the hole in her night, fill in the cracks, he couldn't do it. If she had said those words-those _words_ that had burned themselves onto his heart, the _I miss you_ 's and the _I don't miss Roy_ 's and the jealousy that tinged in her voice and bit at his ears when she cried about his date-and didn't remember the importance that positively drowned them in, then there was no way he could be the one to paint them back into her memory.

His moment was gone.

And yet here he sat, literally crumbling apart on the inside at the thought of the most pivotal moment in their relationship coming to an impasse, but having to put on a brave face and give her answers anyway. Luckily for him, the countless years of pranks and jokes and-honestly? Having to hide his emotions from her in general-had prepared him for such a moment. Swallowing his pride, along with the growing lump in his throat, words somehow found their way to his lips.

"Wow. _Beesly_. I knew you could get a little rambunctious when you drank too much, but total blackout?" His chuckle masked the fact that the tears in his eyes were actually from the sorrow that hung over his head, but she couldn't tell. To her, they were a wave of relief, a comedic parting from the nervous cloud that was finally beginning to dissipate.

"Ya know, there's always been this part of me that was sad that I never got to experience Wild Crazy College Beesly, but thanks to you and your friend Pinot Grigio, my wish has been granted. I can officially die a happy man."

Her giggles found their home echoing off his living room ceiling.

"Glad to be of service."

As she half-bowed in her seated position, and their laughter trickled out into nothingness, she noticed his evasion.

"So, to repay the favor, could you tell me what exactly Wild Crazy College Beesly did last night?"

Her eyes were more hopeful than tentative now, but his gut was still knotted like a Boy Scout had done the damage. Taking a deep breath, while trying not to let on how much he was hurting, he began to weave his believable tale.

"Well, aside from the obvious table dancing, body shots, and lampshade wearing," he paused, giving himself one fleeting moment of that smile that had positively stretched the skin of her face taught. Her cheeks were glowing brighter than any light bulb in the room. Here it was: his fantasy. He could do it, right now. Could reach up, cup her cheek, mutter those simple words that fueled his existence.

But he knew that right now, that wasn't what she needed.

She didn't need large professions of unrequited love. In this moment, she needed reassurance. And that, he could provide for her, no matter how false.

"It was a lot of like, incoherent babbling, if I'm being honest." As the lies formulated, he refused to meet her gaze, refused to meet those wondering eyes, refused to let them search in his own for the actual truth.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." His chuckle, to her, sounded as though he was recalling the conversation, lost in the thoughts of her slurred words that strung together all out of order. But as he chose his words, something stung in the back of her mind that said he wasn't telling her the whole truth.

"So, what exactly _do_ you remember about last night?"

It was her turn to fester in her own mind. A wave of blush washed throughout her body, and she stiffened.

 _I remember being sad that you were going on a date._

 _I remember wanting to call you._

 _I remember_ missing you.

Of course, she couldn't just _say_ those things.

But why?

Why couldn't she just tell him the truth?

She had come here tonight in search of the truth, hadn't she?

If she was going to do this, she was going to do it _right_.

She set her things on the seat to her right, secured her glass atop a coaster on his coffee table, and turned to face him.

"Honestly, Jim? I don't remember our phone conversation at all," she began slowly, picking at her fingers as she chose her words. "But what I _do_ remember is everything that led up to it."

His eyes were intense, searching frantically, trying to find her motivations before the words came. He nodded, ever so slightly, encouraging her to continue.

"I...I remember hearing you tell Kevin and Abby that you had a date."

His entire body was a thousand degrees.

"And when I got home, well Roy had already made plans to go out, so I...opened a bottle of wine."

She refused to meet his gaze, tending to her cuticles suddenly an integral part of her storytelling.

"The more I drank, the more upset I got."

Seriously, had Mark messed with the thermostat? He tugged at the collar of his t-shirt, willing the sweat to avoid seeping through the cotton.

"And suddenly, I wasn't upset that Roy was out, but…"

She gulped, willing the tears back inside, as she finally met his eyes. That forest green had deepened to a color so intense, she had to look away for a moment.

"I was upset because...I think I _missed_ you."

She didn't think it; she _knew_ it. But this way was much easier.

"You were out with someone else, and I guess...I guess I was jealous?"

He pleaded with his body to stop shaking. She could feel that through the leather, couldn't she?

"I was jealous, because you're _my_ friend. You shouldn't have been out with someone else. God, how selfish is that?"

He nodded, surprised that his body was able to handle even such a simple motion in his paralyzed state.

"And that's really all I remember."

She offered him a sheepish grin, a shrug of her shoulders, willing him to pick up where she had left off. When he sat motionless and unresponsive, she encouraged him.

"So, Halpert. Think you might be able to finish the story for me?"

He was unmoving, paralyzed by that word _friend_.

 _You're_ my _friend. You shouldn't have been out with someone else._

But at the same time, she had admitted to jealousy. Hadn't said a goddamn _thing_ about the drinking and the date being unrelated. Maybe, just maybe, he could do this, too. After shifting his body so that his legs now touched the floor, so that he faced forwards now instead of lounging in her direction, he took a long sip of his otherwise untouched glass of water, wishing so much that it would transform itself into something that would give him a bit more courage.

"Well, um. I mean, now that you mention it…" He was grappling, stalling, and they both knew it.

"Yeah, Pam, that's...that's kind of what the whole conversation was about."

His eyes drifted upwards from where they rested in his lap, landing on hers that were riddled with tension, apprehension, but still filled with questions. As he had moments ago, she nodded in encouragement.

"So, you called me, obviously…" His fingers traced the rim of his water glass, the squeaking sound barely audible under his digits. "And you said...well, you said that you missed me."

He squeezed his eyes shut, for only a second, flashes of their phone conversation positively attacking him.

"You didn't...you didn't know _why_ you missed me. You wanted me to answer that for you. Which, I _think_ , is why you called me in the first place."

He offered her a sheepish smile, finding humor in the purpose of her call.

"Like, you thought I knew your motivation behind missing me or something."

And there it was. Her upturned lips. A sense that he was at least doing something right.

"Well, at least I remembered _something_ ," she offered.

"Yeah, yeah that's true."

"So, Halpert. Did you tell me why?" Her eyes pinched, eyebrow cocked, as she tried to bring back their joking aire.

"Did I tell you why _what_?"

"Did you tell me why I apparently spent my entire night missing you?"

His lips twitched, fighting between going up or down, when he decided that, at this point, he might as well just play along.

"Unfortunately, Beesly, I cannot read minds-don't tell Dwight that, by the way. I'm in the process of convincing him otherwise." A giggle. A pause. Time to breathe. "So in that respect, I did _not_. But, I have some theories."

"Oh? And they are?"

"Well, it could be a number of things: My amazing sense of humor, my epic pranking skills, my devilishly handsome looks."

He waggled his eyebrows. She shook her head from side to side in laughter, masking the chill that had shocked her.

"But, to be honest, Pam, I don't know. That's one question I can't answer for you. And I'm pretty sure that's what I told you last night."

His smile was apologetic. Hers was sad, but understanding. He continued.

"And then it was...it was a lot of me worrying about how much wine you'd had, and you telling me that you missed me again, and then...well, you were asking me about my date."

He paused, needing to catch his breath, to ground himself back to this living room, this _earth_. She was still listening; her gaze hadn't wavered from his lips, trying to hold onto every word that passed.

"You wanted to know where we went, and what we did, and then...you asked me if I kissed her goodnight."

Suddenly, nothing else in the world was more important to her than the question that poured out of her lips without warning.

"Did you kiss her goodnight?"

Their eyes met, for the first time, in intensity.

"No."

She gulped.

"Did you want to?"

He gulped.

"No."

In the same instant, their eyes found each other's lips, flicking up and down, lips to eyes, the heat between them seeming to cook.

He was leaning forward.

 _She_ was leaning forward.

His palm positively covered her thigh.

Her tiny hand posessively grasped his forearm.

And Mark and Kimmy barreled through the front door.

Jim and Pam both nearly jumped out of their skin, stealing to opposite ends of the couch as the couple came bounding down the hallway into their sights.

"Hey, Halpert! I called dibs on the living room tonight, bro!"

His voice preceded him, and his eyes widened as his body followed, his eyes dropping in on the sight in the living room. There was a Jim, and there was a Pam, but not the Jim and Pam he knew. No, these two humans were oh so _clearly_ flustered. They were red, flustered, sweat beaded on foreheads. He cursed himself for coming back so early.

Both parties on the couch were suddenly standing before him; Pam clutching her things protectively against her chest, Jim with hands clasped behind his head as if he'd just been for a run.

"Yeah, yeah sure, man. We'll get out of your hair."

And then they were gone, headed down the hallway towards the door.

As he saw his roommate disappear around the corner, he made a silent prayer that he wouldn't be left brokenhearted tonight.

They were caught in the hallway between the stairs and the front door, neither knowing quite what to do.

Did they talk about it? Resume what they were doing?

Do what they always did and run away from it all?

Their "So's" escaped at the same time, overlapping one another, being forgotten in a string of giggles that eventually petered out.

"You wanna watch a movie or something?" Jim finally said, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants to keep from touching her again. "I have a TV in my bedroom."

A small sigh escaped Pam's lungs. She was exhausted from their conversation, but she didn't want to leave him. Not yet.

"Wow, how very ninetys of you."

Their nervous smiles matched, and he led the way upstairs to a room she'd only ever seen once before.

She didn't remember what movie they picked, or when they had turned the lights off, or when he had suddenly nodded off. What she did remember was the overwhelming sense of _Jim_ that had assaulted her from the moment her socks crossed the threshold.

He had offered to sit on the floor so that she could lie on his bed. She had immediately declined, patting the spot next to her as she cozied up to the pillows that were tattooed with his scent and imprinted by his face. Their position mimicked the one that they had formed that Valentine's Day night, with legs outstretched. But this time, being on a bed, hers barely made it three-quarters of the way, while she noticed that his frame had to fight to stay all the way on the mattress. She didn't sandwich his feet between hers this time, didn't lay her head atop his shoulder, but not because she didn't want to.

It was because she feared that if she did, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from touching more than just that.

She should've felt ridgid, uncomfortable, awkward on his bed. Instead, that hole that had been itching her chest for the past-well, she really didn't know how long-was suddenly more whole.

They didn't speak, just laughed at a screen filled with people she didn't know, whom she didn't care to find out more about. She laughed when he did, was silent in his silences. Until she felt movement beside her in the nodding of his head. Aside from that one morning, she'd never seen him asleep before. This opportunity was one she was going to seal permanently into her mind.

The way his mouth opened just a touch.

The way his eyes vibrated behind the lids, hopefully chasing good dreams.

The way his face turned almost instantaneously from man to boy, skin softening in the light of the television.

She stared at him for seconds, minutes, a half hour? She couldn't keep track. Didn't want to. Didn't want to answer the part of her mind that asked why she was all of a sudden inching closer to him. Didn't want to be questioned as to why she was slinking down from her seated position. Didn't want to admit to why her head was suddenly cradled to his chest, why her arm was snaking around his waist, why her leg was coming to cross posessively over his own.

Wouldn't admit to every part of her that was screaming as she carefully grabbed her phone to text Roy that she would be home in the morning.

As her eyes blinked slowly shut and she let sleep envelop her, she thought she felt his arm come around her, too.

* * *

At 3:47 AM, Jim was suddenly awake.

Not awake in an alert sense, but awake enough to know that if he didn't open his eyes, he'd drift back to his dreams in a matter of minutes.

As a matter of fact, he realized, he was still _in_ one of his dreams.

He was in his own room, that much he knew.

But this time, his arms were wrapped possessively around her small body as he spooned her from behind.

Of all his dreams, this was truly his favorite.

He could imagine risque and downright dirty things all he wanted to. But this? Wrapped around the woman that he loved, protecting her as she slept, was all he wanted in life. And when his subconscious mimicked that wish, he thanked it each and every time. He tried his best to lock this one away before it escaped him, to pocket for a rainy day.

Their bodies were essentially molded together, back to front, bottom to crotch, legs running the length of one another. His arms held on tightly, as they always did in dreams like these, one wrapped around her waist, the other across her chest.

Usually, his dreams didn't have smells, but the scent of her familiar shampoo must've cut itself loose from his memories and given him an extra added bonus tonight.

Doing what he always did in this favorite dream of his, he nuzzled his nose into her hair and placed a tender, lingering kiss atop her head. And like _she_ always did, she nuzzled her body closer, gripping him tighter as he did the same.

* * *

The first thing Pam noticed upon waking up was that she was absolutely, positively, _cold_. Roy was a hot box, so she never needed to worry about a lack of covers at night. But as she became more familiarized with her surroundings, she remembered that she wasn't with Roy.

She was with _Jim_.

Her head was nestled neatly under his shoulder, where his nose brushed atop her forehead, his slow breath tickling her skin. She was cradled into a fetal position against him, his arm wrapped loosely around her shoulder where it came flush with her own arm that was gripping the cotton of the shirt above his chest. Her left leg was draped unceremoniously over his thighs, nearing dangerously towards his waistline.

This time, she didn't startle, or jump ten feet in the air. This time, she let her body come to know, to understand, what was happening. What it would be like to wake up with Jim.

But she was still cold.

Because Jim Halpert was a goddamn cover hog.

The entire green and brown striped comforter was wrapped around him like a burrito.

And his lanky frame was weighed on top of the sheets.

Her shivering startled him from his slumber enough to squeeze onto her tighter, as if he knew that once he opened his eyes, this moment would be gone. Her eyes closed too, searing this feeling to her brain.

As his eyes blinked open, his arms slipped from their place around her body, the cold now overtaking her. He stretched, long, lanky arms winding above his head, toes extending under the covers, squeaks and moans trickling in his throat.

She'd always wondered what he would look like first thing in the morning. Was he a chronic snoozer? Up before the alarm?

At least she had the answer to one question. He was most _definitely_ a cover hog.

As he concluded the last of his stretches, he slowly turned his gaze to meet hers. Through one opened eye, and bedhead that stuck out in all directions.

He wasn't running away this time.

He was going to wake up next to her, and he was going to enjoy the next five minutes of his life.

"Hey."

His voice was gravelly, filled with sleep that was still trying to hold on.

Roy's was usually grumbling, loud, and worse most days than her alarm clock.

"Hi."

Her smile stretched to her ears.

He watched her, still crumpled into a tiny ball, hands now clasped together under her chin.

"How'd you sleep?"

Her eyes closed, smile reaching her ears, as she gave herself a passing moment to remember the way his body had been wrapped around hers.

"Great, actually. I'd rate your bed a solid seven out of ten."

"A seven? Seriously, Beesly?" He scoffed, propping himself on his side. He'd never had a conversation this intimately close with her. He'd do everything in his power to keep it going all day long.

"And where exactly am I missing those three points?"

She giggled.

She was giggling _in his bed._

The halo of light that came in through his bedroom window didn't hold a candle to the way her smile lit up the room.

He could do it right here. Right now. Reach out. Take her face in his hands. Tell her that he loved her. Stay in this bed, all day, wrapped up in her.

"Well, the comfort level is pretty great. But where you _lose_ points is in temperature."

Her eyes drifted to the blanket that was still cocooned around his body, laughing as his eyes bulged out of his skull.

"Oh my _god,_ Beesly I am _so sorry!_ "

Her laughter shook his bed in a way he hadn't ever wished for, but was now encouraging.

He untucked the blanket from where his body warmed it and extended a corner to her small frame.

"God, I feel like such a _dick_. I'll have to help you warm up. Wouldn't want you getting sick now."

It was those words that did it, that flooded memories upon her like a monsoon.

 _I'll have to help you warm up. Wouldn't want you getting sick now._

Suddenly, they were in her house, tumbling down the hallway, lying on the guest bed.

He was ravishing her body, clothes disappearing, lips and hands _everywhere._

Her legs wrapped around him, begging for more.

Him, positively _everywhere_ , inside her, filling her to a wholeness she'd never known.

She was on the couch, an empty bottle of wine coursing through her veins.

 _Beesly, are you drunk?_

 _Maybe a little._

 _How much is a little?_

 _Maybe, like,_ the whole bottle.

 _Jim, why do I miss you?_

 _I'm more than a little worried right now. I'll drive across town to come check on you if I have to._

Yes. _You should do_ that. _B'cause then I wouldn't have to_ miss you.

' _Cause when I see you, I get all tingly inside. When I see Roy, all I feel is_ blech.

 _Is Roy home?_

 _No._

It was all back.

And it was hitting her as square in the face as hard as the words _fiance_ and _infidelity_ and _cheater_ were. She felt as though she had a giant scarlett "A" tattooed on her forehead.

This moment was _gone._

As gone as she was, as she pounced from the bed, grabbing her neat pile of coat and scarf and purse, before bounding down the staircase.

She heard his faint, "Pam! Pam, wait! Pam!" as she headed towards the door, but her mind was positively overwhelmed by the ringing of mockery in her ears.

He met her, flush against her back, large hand covering hers as it hovered on the doorknob.

"Pam."

His voice was hot in her ear, only causing the tears to spill harder down her cheeks.

"Did I… Was it something I…"

She shook her head, hair brushing against his chest, as she turned their hands against the doorknob.

"I have to go."

She refused to meet his eyes as she backed down the driveway, tearing across town as fast as the motor would take her.


	19. Chapter 19

He wasn't letting this happen again.

As Pam nearly fishtailed out of his driveway, the screeching in his brain was drawing parallels to the last time they had found themselves in a situation like this. She was in his arms, willingly _in his arms_ , and then suddenly she was running away. For the shred of sanity he had left, he could not **l** et this happen again, couldn't let her keep running from whatever was or wasn't going on between them. Using every ounce of strength that his body could muster, he took off down the street.

He was at the end of his block, palms splayed across the hood of her car, when he realized that he was still barefoot. Through a still defrosting pane of glass, the look in her eyes was fear synthesized with pain and much more turmoil than he'd ever wanted to see painted on her face.

Through parted lips, a slight nod, the sense of urgency in his deep green eyes, he urged her out of the car. Sunday morning traffic and a four-way neighborhood intersection were on his side as she angled her car three feet to the curb, threw her hazards on, and unlocked the doors. When he settled in to the passenger seat, her stark white knuckles were still gripping the steering wheel at eleven and one.

The sole sounds in the small cabin came from panting breaths with the background of a humming motor, eventually joined by the tapping of his restless foot, the final instrument to their three piece band. The passenger seat was pulled close, almost on the last notch, probably to accommodate the ever-shrinking woman beside him. In wake of their situation, he could still find humor, marveling at their difference in size. Their gazes hadn't wavered from staring out the front windshield, hers following a squirrel as it scurried up a tree, his tracing over the letters on the stop sign over and over again.

She watched the numbers on the clock tick, minute by minute, the tens place finally clicking over. Biting her lip, she shifted her eyes, keeping her head stable, trying to sneak a glance that would simultaneously read his mind. Was he staring at her? Looking out the window? No. He was the picture of pity: head hung low, fingers perched on his knees, giving the occasional drum from pinky to pointer. He looked undoubtedly deflated, like she hadn't only run out of his house in a panic, but had reached over this morning in bed and popped him like a balloon. But as she sat in her car, praying that her thoughts weren't etched into the foggy air surrounding them, she clenched her eyes shut and succumbed to the positive memories for just a moment more.

His body curled into hers.

Her head on his chest.

The way that she felt doubtlessly _safe_ in his arms.

The way that, despite waking up cold, she woke up _smiling_ for the first time in _years_.

But those years, those past nine years, taunted her, howling at her from the band around her finger. The band that had woken up in another man's bed. The band that was suddenly sparkling under the guise of the tear that had fallen upon it.

"Pam."

Her name on his lips, almost foreign under the sleep that still wavered in his throat.

It cut her like a knife, straight to her soul, in a way that the single syllable of her name had never hurt her before. She could hear the ache in his voice, taste the pain. _She'd_ done that. But she didn't know any other way. She clenched her eyes shut, to squeeze the last of her tears out, willing her emotions to purge out with the liquid as it poured from her eyes.

"Pam, I don't...I don't know what to do here anymore."

He was talking to her, but pleading with the ceiling, his palms floating up, still refusing to find her face, because he knew that once he did, he would break. In her silence, he continued.

"I just...we can't keep doing this, if this is how it's going to be."

Still, she said nothing, knowing that any words she uttered would break in sobs from her throat.

"This is...it's all...Pam, I don't know if I can…"

Nothing coming out of his mouth was making sense. His words, alien in the way they formed, sticking and gritty against his throat. He couldn't form anything coherent, logic going out the window with the rest of Pam's actions. He was struggling now. Struggling with what to do, what to say next. Phrases like _You can't keep doing this to me,_ and _You're confusing the hell out of me, Pam_ hammered against his temples. But he couldn't get them from thought to reality. To do so would be in direct violation of his plan to keep their relationship in tact no matter the cause. To do so would cross that line. And judging by the way she had darted from his bed less than an hour prior, she was not ready for that boundary to be broken.

"What do you want...from all of this?"

It was bold, for sure. It was all he could think to ask at a time like this. He knew where he stood. His fogginess stemmed from what she had failed to tell him, what she was thinking about their recent interactions. But he needed to know.

She wasn't sure her grip could become much tighter on the steering wheel, but as she felt wetness in the pads of her palm, she realized that her nails had been digging hard enough to draw trickles of blood.

What did she _want_ from all of this?

She wanted for it to not be so _hard_.

She wanted someone to tell her what to do.

She wanted her fairy godmother to appear, wave a magic wand, and clear up the murkiness that had been clouding her brain for the past two months.

She wanted answers. But now, so did he.

And the only answer she had for him was, "I don't know."

It was barely a whisper, written in vapor that sent a quickly disappearing fog to the windshield.

"I don't know, Jim." Her voice was stronger now, as if she was more sure in her ambiguity. "I think...I need _time._ I need to think. About...just, _all_ of this."

For the first time, their eyes met, and he was glad that it had taken them this long, because the sheer terror in her glassy eyes would've had her wrapped against his chest instantaneously. The shock hit him for the first time that this really was eating her up inside. While he couldn't decipher the cause, it was evident in her eyes that she truly was struggling. He had no desire to push her any further, to take her to a place where she would certainly tumble over the edge. It killed him to stay stagnant in his own seat; he longed to reach out, to touch a hand to her cheek, to send every ounce of physical comfort left to her dejected body.

"Okay."

His lungs allowed him this one syllable, knowing in every stretch of his being that this was what she needed. And he needed to be okay with that. He'd spent the past three years in her shoes with plenty of time to think and fester and drown in his own thoughts. Although it was painful, it was also what _he_ had needed. He had become incredibly introspective in these past few years, and his self-reflection—while so often painful—was also helpful. He was able to understand his wants, his needs, but also to give himself boundaries. Maybe now _she_ needed to discover all of this on her own.

The palpitating silence lasted minutes, its weight heavy and distinct. Finally, he patted his thighs simultaneously, the thud resonating in the cabin enough to cause her to jump slightly.

"I should probably go, then." Though sleep had long since passed, his voice still touched on the edge of roughness. He didn't care enough to clear his throat. He offered her a tight smile, eyes cast downward as he fought one last urge to reach out, take her in his arms, searching her eyes for any hint that she wanted him to do so. All he saw was in the murky green was a lost soul, praying to find her way out. It cut him like blade to skin, lifting his long legs out of her car without more than a half wave. He watched her car until its spec on the horizon blurred away, and even then, he waited, just in case she turned around.

Eventually, the stinging in his toes reminded him that it was still only bordering on mid-March, that east coast weather was a battle he picked each and every winter. Rocks and gravel crunched under the pads of his feet that he didn't bother to wash off before he walked directly past Mark's worried eyes and planted his worn and shaken body face down in the pillow where her scent still remained.

* * *

She arrived home to emptiness, quiet, solitude. She hadn't expected anything less, and was actually grateful when she stepped into the eerie calmness of a grey living room. She welcomed the quiet as she pulled her easel and a blank canvas from their closet shelter. The colors squirting onto the pallet echoed her mood; deep greens and somber blues coupled with dark monochromes, splashing angrily, quickly covering the too-bright white. Typically her canvases were reserved for special work, something she was sure of and confident putting onto such a permanent surface. But the only concrete thoughts that her mind could form right now were confounding and impeding and downright obstructive. The colors splaying in crisscrossing lines and oblong spatters without cause mimicked just that.

Sweat collected and dripped down her forehead, mixing with fresh tears by the time she finished, not a spot of white visible in the conglomeration that had amassed before her. It was almost too bad that her chosen medium was art and not written work; her painting was a visible representation of the turmoil inside her head, but the thoughts that she kept were still there, battling within her, fighting for some sense of order. It was in the middle of adding tinier lines, the details of what she knew to be true— _I'm engaged to Roy; Roy doesn't feel right; Jim feels right—_ etched more finely into her otherwise caliginous impression, that Roy returned home. She only heard him when he was but a foot behind her, calling out so loudly that she almost knocked the easel over. He had never been one for subtlety.

"Wow, goin' all dark and twisty today, huh babe?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

She was so startled by his sudden arrival that it took her body a moment to register his bulky frame taking up the living room, the woodsy scent with a hint of motor oil that now overwhelmed her nostrils, the way his lips curled into more of a snarl and less of a smile, settling a funk in gut. The assault on her senses were in such severe contrast to the past twelve hours of her life that were submerged in lopsided grins and lanky limbs and musky spice.

"I'm gonna go hop in the shower. Wanna order take out or somethin'?"

He was already halfway to the bathroom, comments tossed over his shoulder. His t-shirt hit the floor somewhere between the hallway and their bedroom. She didn't even have the energy to roll her eyes.

As they sat on the couch later that evening, empty Chinese cartons scattered about, the sounds of basketball completed the monotonous ambience that she was suddenly growing tired of. She longed for an excuse to leave the couch, find herself alone with her thoughts, but she knew that retreating to the bedroom would inevitably end up with Roy tailing her, pawing at her, angry if she denied him. She wasn't up for the fight tonight. At least if she stayed on the couch long enough, so could pretend she was asleep, and he'd leave her there overnight. While it was crassly inconsiderate, she was actually hoping for her night to end in that way.

"So, did you have fun last night?" his voice broke through the haze that she was lost in.

Last night? She still wasn't sure what exactly _last night_ meant. But Roy wasn't listening. Wasn't _truly_ listening to the words that she pieced together. It wouldn't matter if they were false or not. He wouldn't know the difference.

"Yeah. It was a good night."

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he nodded, his smile creepily phony, his eyes never wavering from the man shooting from the top of the key.

"It was kinda nice to have our own space for a day, ya know? Not having to be in each other's hair."

She scoffed audibly, the words that he said resonating so truly with the stewing thoughts that she had yet to sort out. If she were being honest with herself, she needed more than just those twelve or so hours.

"Yeah. It was nice. Maybe we should do it more often."

She hadn't meant for the words to escape her subconscious, but somehow they had crept into reality.

"Heh. Maybe."

As Roy sank deeper into the couch, stretching his legs wider apart, his arm taking up more of the back of the couch, she shriveled even tinier into her crouched position on the couch, arms wrapping tighter around her knees, chin tucking deeper into the crevice where they met. They hadn't been touching all night, and as those words hung thickly between them, she felt like they were the same side of a magnet, pushing away from each other. As the night wore on, her plan to spend it on the couch came to fruition naturally, as exhaustion got the best of her, and her head drifted to the right. She felt Roy drop a blanket across her crumpled frame and drifted into an unconsciousness riddled with lanky limbs and cold feet.

* * *

Monday morning, she sat on pins and needles, wondering what would happen when Jim arrived. She didn't want it to be awkward; she longed for their normalcy to reign above the strained manner in which they had left one another. True to his amiable character, he greeted her with a smile and a, "Good mornin', Beesly," but she couldn't decide whether to jump all over him with cheeriness or stay reserved. Instead, she settled for, "Good morning," and a tight-lipped smile.

It remained like this for most of the morning, both of them stealing nervous glances when the other wasn't looking. It wasn't until just before lunch that she noticed a six foot shadow over the jelly bean container, and her body went simultaneously hot and quaky.

"Oh my god. Dwight is driving me up a freaking _wall_. I need an out here, Beesly." She watched as his dainty fingers popped three candies into his mouth. "Got any ideas?"

It was her first genuine smile of the morning. _This_ she could do. Pranking, joking, laughing with her best friend. This was the easy part. Eying the jeans that hung behind her desk, a light bulb clicked on above her. Standing, she beckoned him towards the kitchen, making sure Dwight was otherwise occupied while she snuck Michael's jeans behind her back.

"Alright, Bees, what's up with the fancy pants? I don't have to put them on, do I?"

She giggled, wrapping the saran wrapped pants tighter in her grasp.

"Not _technically_. How would you feel about disappearing for the afternoon?" Her eyebrows cocked, the gleam in her eye intriguing him that much more.

"Uhm, let me think about that for a second— _yes_." She loved it when his sarcasm was so overt. She had to quell her giggling, not wanting to draw the attention of their co-workers as they put their plan into action.

After lunching separately to throw Dwight off their scent, and setting Jim up in the closet in the back, he stood abruptly, clutching his stomach, breathing heavily, and even adding in a wince.

"Are you constipated?" Dwight didn't bother to look up from his computer as Jim piled on the theatrics.

"Ya know, Dwight, I think I ate some old lunch meat or something. I'll be back."

"Don't be too long, Jim. You're on company time!"

Pam ducked her head to hide the smile that was spreading from cheek to cheek. Two minutes later, her IM window popped up.

 **jhalpert:** the eagle is in the nest

 **pbeesly:** so youre officially in the closet for the afternoon?

 **jhalpert:** 10-4 beesly. i might need you to make refreshment runs in a little bit.

 **pbeesly:** refreshment runs?! didnt you just eat lunch?

 **jhalpert:** im a growing boy, pam. dont question it.

Twenty minutes passed, and she eventually became buried in work of her own, checking the IM window each time it blinked at the bottom of her screen. Finally, Dwight's attention was pulled during a lull.

"Pamela," he began, glancing questioningly first at Jim's desk, then to reception. "Where is Jim? He's been gone for at least twenty minutes. If he's going to take a second lunch, he needs to record that to be docked pay."

"I don't know, Dwight. Did he tell you where he was going?"

 **pbeesly:** bait taken, eagle. keep your ears peeled.

 **jhalpert:** i have a coffee cup to the door as we speak.

 **pbeesly:** type*

 **jhalpert:** so technical, beesly

 **pbeesly:** just doing my job :)

"He mentioned something about a trip to the lavatory. I suppose I should go make sure he's still alive."

As soon as Dwight had passed her desk, Pam's thoughts immediately drifted to the scene he had set up: Michael's pants were fastened to the toilet seat, with Jim's shoes settled on the floor, looking attached at the ankles. To Dwight, it would appear as though Jim was still in the stall. To Jim and Pam, the shoeless man was actually sitting in the closet, set up on an old computer, breaking every pinball record the ancient machine had to offer while he munched on a bag of Doritos.

The elevated voice rose from the center of the office, Dwight's yells causing the rest of their co-workers to stare in his direction, some eyes wandering to Jim's desk while others immediately sought her out, wondering what they had cooked up this time. She thought of the otherwise one-sided conversation that Dwight was having, but thanked her lucky stars that Jim had thought to stow walkie-talkies in his desk for an occasion just like this. She imagined him, socked feet criss-crossed underneath him as he spoke into the walkie-talkie, Pam relaying Dwight's end of the conversation to his out of reach ears. Moments later, Dwight reappeared, flustered and frustrated.

 **jhalpert:** nice work, partner. i think he bought it.

 **pbeesly:** *bows* couldn't have done it without you. so how long do you think you can hold out in there?

 **jhalpert:** oh, beesly, you underestimate me. I plan on being in here until he leaves. let him stew for awhile. plus, its monday. im definitely all worked out already.

She chuckled, imagining his gangly body holed up in the closet for the day, sitting on the ground like a kindergartener. She toyed with the idea of bringing him a chair, but thought better of it.

 **pbeesly:** soooo, game time?

 **jhalpert:** definitely. what did you have in mind?

 **pbeesly:** 20 questions?

 **jhalpert:** youre on. let me know when youve got one.

 **pbeesly:** alright halpert. we need stakes here though. what are we playing for?

As his fingers hovered over the keyboard, he knew that they could be treading on dangerous waters here. What did he want if he won? He already knew that the answer would be inappropriate given her current relationship status. With that in mind, he opted for something safer.

 **jhalpert:** i dont know beesly, you wanted to play, you should probably pick the prize this round

 **pbeesly:** ugh, youre no fun. fine. loser buys pizza next time we hang out?

Next time we hang out? So. She _wasn't_ still as shaken up about this weekend as he imagined she'd be. Interesting.

 **jhalpert:** game on. just remember, i demand cheese in my crust.

Her cheeks flushed pink, the memory of her favorite Valentine's Day suddenly creeping into immediacy.

 **pbeesly:** alright, im good to go whenever you want to start guessing.

 **jhalpert:** animal, vegetable, or mineral?

 **pbeesly:** vegetable

 **jhalpert:** is it actually a vegetable though?

 **pbeesly:** you caught me. no, it is in fact not an actual vegetable.

 **jhalpert:** knew it. then it must be a dessert.

 **pbeesly:** thats not a question jim.

 **jhalpert:** then it must be a dessert?

 **pbeesly:** thank you. jeez, halpert, learn to follow the rules at least. and yes, it could be considered dessert.

 **jhalpert:** thanks for the tip. is your magical item jelly beans?

 **pbeesly:** get out of my head halpert. that was clearly too easy!

 **jhalpert:** hey now, dont call yourself easy, thats just not nice ;)

Her entire body flushed, fingers tingling as they hovered over the keyboard.

 **pbeesly:** alright, that was just a warm up round. prepare to have your paycheck direct deposited to pizza hut.

Eventually, quitting time rolled around, co-workers trickled by her desk to grab coats and hats, and Dwight grumbled and paced outside the bathroom several times before eventually giving up, muttering something about docking Jim for a personal day. Roy had stopped by to let her know that there was an impromptu Monday night wings extravaganza led by the warehouse guys and left her the keys to his truck. Suddenly, separated by only a few doors, they were alone in the office. She crept into the men's room and grabbed the walkie talkie.

"Van Gogh to Eagle: The Nimrod has left the building. I repeat: The Nimrod has left the building."

Doors squeaked open, socked feet padded quietly on carpet, and suddenly he was giving her an air high-five from across the kitchen before he crossed the floor in easy strides and was standing in front of her for the first time in almost five hours. She hadn't realized how much she truly missed staring at him every time she looked up.

"So, I was thinking about calling a cab, leaving my car in the lot overnight, and leaving him a surprise when he gets here in the morning."

"Please, _please_ absolutely do that," she managed through giggles. As they fumbled with zippers and buttons and gloves and scarves, she made a sudden realization. "Hey, don't call a cab. Roy left me the truck. I'll take you home."

Silently, he slid into the passenger seat, chuckling as his knees hit the dash.

"Do not mock me, Halpert. I'll make you walk."

He slid the seat back, buckling, eyes trailing her profile slowly before she turned her to face forward again as she put the truck from reverse into drive. They settled into a comfortable silence for a the first few moments of the ride before he finally spoke up.

"So, Beesly, I hope your bank account is ready to handle my Pizza Hut order. I'm thinkin' lots of toppings, lots of sides, the whole works."

Her groan was mostly in good fun.

"God, Jim, I can't believe you actually guessed all of mine! It's not fair! I'm almost convinced you have my desk bugged or something."

"While I've been severely tempted to do _just that_ , the bug serves its purposes _way_ better under Dwight's computer monitor." He reveled in the way she seemed to laugh so easily, thoughts drifting for a fleeting second, wondering if it was the same way with Roy, hoping silently that it wasn't. "I guess I just know you better than you know yourself, Beesly."

His quirky grin almost killed her, and she was sadly grateful that they were already parked in his driveway, because she was sure she would have crashed the car if they had still been stuck in traffic. She held his smile with one of her own, letting the setting sun light up the specks of brown in his glowing green eyes.

"So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Unless you keep this prank going for another day. I don't know, Jim. At the rate you're going, you might as well call that closet your home for the foreseeable future."

He smiled and waved from the front door before disappearing inside the house that she had come to know, come to love, come to fear. Fear in the sense that she found herself running out the door not days before; fear that she wished she hadn't.

 _I guess I just know you better than yourself, Beesly._

If only he had the answers.


	20. Chapter 20

Sitting on the couch, her right side barely whispering against Roy's left, Pam's mind was anywhere but on the movie they had rented. Roy had been ecstatic when she hadn't even flinched at his choice of The Fast and the Furious. Truthfully, she couldn't care less what fictitious characters invaded their living room that Friday night. Her body was wholly consumed by something else, some _one_ else, the radiating heat stemming not from the hot box of a man sitting next to her, but from the man not five miles across town and the week she had spent with him.

Hearing about Kevin's impending cancer results had brought out a sympathetic side in him that she selfishly thought was reserved for her. Feeling the sudden inclination to be alone with him, she had suggested "getting something for Kevin," and suddenly she found herself walking down the Rite Aid aisles accompanied by her floppy haired co-worker and sixty-nine Cup of Noodles. The giddiness she felt as they walked side by side with the menial task of shopping at hand faltered in comparison to the way she felt shopping with Roy, who did nothing but grumble and throw unnecessary items into their cart like a toddler. It almost felt like a natural thing that they should be doing together once or twice a week, stocking their cart full of items to try out a new dish. Her mind had then wandered to flirtatious teasing, an accidental burned dinner, giggles as they used the odds and ends that they still had in the fridge to make something completely outrageous, but comical and oddly delicious all the same. Instead, she had empty Chinese take-out boxes for the third time that week, and the repugnant odor of beer breath.

As Vin Diesel whipped around the street on screen, and Roy grunted, slugging back another beer, she distracted herself with thoughts that wandered to immediately taking him up on his offer to drive to the skating rink, to bundling up and buckling herself into his Saab, and being so amazed at just how Jim his car felt. It wasn't just the scent, the spice with a hint of Suave shampoo, that assailed her nostrils, but the basketball tossed haphazardly in the backseat, the stick of deodorant sliding out from under the passenger-side carpet, the empty can of grape soda that stuck to the cup holder, that curled her lips in an upward fashion. His blushing cheeks and muttered, "Sorry for the mess," caused her to stifle a giggle.

She could feel Roy's body growing heavier as blush crept into her own cheeks, reminiscent of expressing to Jim her fear of falling, because she hadn't been ice skating since she was in high school, and Roy had done none more than taunt her each time she'd fallen. Her body grew tense with a sudden heat as she recalled his promise, breath passed heavily between them, that he absolutely would not let her fall.

His slim fingers taking hold of her laces when she'd somehow gotten them tangled around the worn and smelly skates, breath hitching as she somehow squeaked out a joke, "They make this lacing process hard on purpose! If you can't pass _this_ test, you shouldn't be allowed on the ice!" He had affirmed her almost immediately, heart skipping a beat when he uttered in a voice meant only for her, "Don't worry, Beesly. I've got you."

Once she'd gotten the hang of things, and knew she didn't actually need him to hold her hand anymore, she felt a tiny part within herself grow, emerging as bold, and purposely flailing backwards so that his hands could catch her time and time again. It was his gloved hand clasping hers, holding her gently at the small of her back, grasping at her waist when she was truly about to tumble, that she found herself craving. With each passing touch, she wanted more. Eventually, she found herself volunteering her hand rather than waiting for his. Though they each had gloved hands, she could feel a delicious electricity pulsing with each connection.

An immense burning flooded her body, knees tucking underneath, as memories floated of the end to their work day. Roy had gone home of his own accord, not wanting to wait around for her to return. They'd both lingered, passing jokes until they were the only ones left in the office, biding their time until she would get a phone call asking if "dinner would be ready soon," or if he should "just starve tonight." Eventually, they took the elevator together. He walked her to her car. The contagious smiles really had no source, but also couldn't be contained. She chalked it up to enjoying their day together, but he knew that his happiness stemmed from the pure love that was toppling out of him for the tiny woman who walked beside him. She just hadn't quite caught up yet.

As Roy's neck finally lolled against the back of the couch, a deep snore emitting from his throat, her body positively warmed as their current afternoon came back into clear view. They had all been getting ready to leave the office behind for the weekend. She had been showing Jim the latest sketch she had been working on; so far, it was no more than a hand reaching out to an otherwise stark white page, but Jim was positively proud of her all the same. While he marveled at the lines on the page, she radiated elation at the joyful admiration that he presented. As Jim returned to his desk to claim his messenger bag, Roy had approached, and snarkiness ensued, the glow in her cheeks replaced with clear dejection, as he threw an off-handed comment at her about, "that hand making me a sandwich."

Jim had watched the scene unfold from his desk, torn between intervening and letting it go, but he had been surprised, watching Pam stand up for herself.

She wasn't quite sure where the surge had stemmed from, but something within her wouldn't stand for it. He had ridiculed her enough, had torn her down time and time again. Enough was enough.

"You know what, Roy? I worked really hard on this. I don't need your criticisms."

"Woah, baby, calm down, I was just ki-"

"Calm down?" She was standing now, fists clenched at her sides, heat evident behind her eyes. He backed away from the desk slightly, not knowing how to react to this side of her that, in the past 9 years they'd been together, he had never before seen.

"You've ridiculed my art since we were teenagers, Roy. I'm _done_. You have _no_ _right_ to stand here and make fun of the _only_ thing that I'm passionate about. I'm sick and tired of it."

The few remaining office workers had surely pulled their attention to the commotion at the front of the office, standing awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. But as Roy's face fell, his hands spread in surrender as he stumbled over a fruitless apology, the smile on Jim's face was anything but reserved. If he'd been proud of her artwork, the splendor for the way she finally found her voice was uncanny.

Roy grappled with his words all the way to the car, empty promises of making it up to her later that weekend tumbling past lips that were still confused at her sudden defenses. Her refusal to speak the entire car ride home, letting him choose the movie and their dinner for the evening, presented an indifference that stemmed now from her pleads to just _shut_ _him_ _up_ , rather than the old Pammy ways of being a pushover. Something had snapped, and she was honestly just tired of listening to the way his words scratched from his throat. Instead, she busied herself with positivity, the images that had brought light to her week, that all shared one common factor: _Jim_.

Upon awakening the next morning to Roy's still tentative hands, featherlight kisses being dropped onto her shoulder, that newness of her bold aire still remained. She showered, and was welcomed into the kitchen by the smell of a poor man's attempt at French toast. Albeit slightly undercooked, it was the gesture that mattered. Although this time, the nudge in her brain reminded her that he shouldn't have to make her breakfast to make up for his hurtful words. They ate in contented silence, his from the fear that his words would set him deeper into trouble, hers from the peg of annoyance that knew she truly wouldn't say anything kind.

It was his offer to take over their weekend chores so that she could work on her sketch that pulled her out of the funk. His softened expression, the insistence with which he took the dishes from in front of her and began immediately scrubbing-with soap this time, not just leaving them in the sink to soak-thawed the demeanor towards him that had been building since the previous afternoon.

As hours of their day dwindled by, and fuzzy lines became more distinct on her page, the soft padding of tentative feet entered the spare bedroom where she had taken up residence.

"Hey, baby." His words were shy, uncertain as he approached her doing the very thing he had so often ridiculed. "How's it goin'?"

At first, she had wanted to ignore him, keeping her focus on the task at hand. The hands that were reaching, their target so close but yet so far off the mark. In the end, though, she saw the hesitant look in his eye and gave in. He had, after all, spent the entire afternoon cleaning their apartment.

"Pretty good. I'm feeling kinda good about this one."

"Oh, really? Can I see it?"

Pulling her eyebrows together and pursing her lips upward, she shook her head smally.

"It's not finished yet. Maybe another time."

"Oh. Okay."

He stood awkwardly in the doorway, not quite knowing what to say or do next, his large hands floating at his sides.

"So, uh, Kenny and a couple of his friends were thinking about heading out tonight. You gonna be working on this for awhile?"

He gestured at the sketchbook that lay across her knees, the pencils spread on the bed next to her, as her lips furled into a frown.

"I thought you said we were going to do something special tonight?" She pulled her legs out from their position of being folded up underneath her body. She was no longer in a position of comfort. "Something about 'making it up to me' after that embarrassing little show you put on back at the office?"

His stance was defensive now, hands and arms finally finding a purpose as they spread palm-up in front of his abdomen.

"Well, yeah, I thought I'd made it up to you by cleaning up around here so you could paint or whatever."

"Do you even _listen_ to the words that come out of your mouth sometimes?"

It was all she could think to say, her words riddled with ironic laughter as she stood from the bed, uncaring when her pencils tumbled to the floor.

"I'm not even going to put up with this tonight."

She pushed past him into their bedroom, throwing items haphazardly into a duffel bag.

"Not going to put up with _what_?"

He was scoffing, watching her scoot annoyedly around their bedroom before angling around him and out the door without a passing glance.

"Babe, I cleaned, like, the _whole_ _house_. What's with the attitude all of a sudden?"

Finally, he had caught her attention. Finally, she was stopping dead in her tracks, allowing herself to face him so that he could catch the full brunt of the heat riddled in her stare.

"The _attitude_? You've _got_ to be kidding me, right?" There was a beat of silence, an opportunity for him to defend himself, but as she observed the blatant ignorance in the way his face stupidly searched hers for an answer, she pressed on.

"Do you really think that 'cleaning the house' is what I wanted from you? After you openly _mocked_ me in front of everyone in the office?"

"I'm pretty sure almost everyone was gone by that point."

"That's not the point!" she retorted, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"Then what _is_?"

It was in this fleeting moment, his barbaric frame standing not five feet away, that she allowed herself the sinking feeling that _this_ was her future. This boorish, obtuse excuse for a man was what she was committing herself to for life. In that moment, it sounded more like a prison sentence than a blissful marriage. In that moment, she was too tired to fight it anymore.

"You know what? Forget it, Roy. Have fun with Kenny. I'm heading to a friend's for the night."

Without another word, she slipped her shoes and coat on, threw her duffel bag into the backseat of her car, and was on Jim's front porch with her fingers pushing in the doorbell.

"Hey." His expression was startled; there wasn't a reason for her to be on his doorstep, yet here she was. After the initial shock, he allowed himself to settle into the comfort that had been ebbing since his eyes had settled on her face.

"Hey. I figured I still owed you a pizza from our little game last week. Care to cash in?"

"Absolutely."


	21. Chapter 21

The shock of having Pam Beesly in his home was never going falter in Jim's eyes. He had to catch his breath as he watched her remove her coat, barely registering the softness of it between his fingers as he took it from her to hang in the hall closet.

"Sorry for dropping by so unexpectedly," she began as he closed the closet door, still facing away from her. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Judging by the quickness with which he had invited her inside, Pam hadn't figured she had been intruding on his night. But as she followed Jim into the living room, a pang of guilt twinged in her stomach. Their coffee table was covered in various empty beverage containers and potato chip bags. Mark sat perched on the edge of the couch clad in pajama bottoms and a raggedy t-shirt, Playstation controller clutched in his fingers as his thumbs moved swiftly from button to button. As he thrust his fist into the air, "Fuck yeah, Halpert, I _owned_ your ass!" ringing off the walls, and Mortal Kombat characters falling to the ground, she realized immediately that she definitely _had_ interrupted something: boy's night.

It wasn't that she hadn't crashed one of Jim's boy's nights before-Valentine's Day had _certainly_ been a "boy's night" to remember. But this time was different. He had actually invited her the last time. Tonight, she actually _was_ crashing, intervening, impeding on his home life.

Jim could sense her tension as they entered the living room, and he chose to act as if nothing was wrong with the situation that she perceived to be an alien to.

"Okay, asshole. I wasn't even playing. This round doesn't count. Start the rematch. Pam's gonna buy us a pizza."

"Excellent. Breadsticks, too?" Mark's eyes lifted momentarily from the television screen, meeting Pam's with a grin.

Leaning against the wall that ended the openness of the foyer into the living room, Pam let a grin of her own curl onto her lips. Jim had taken what she presumed to be his spot on the couch next to Mark, their poses almost identical as the two grown men transformed into teenage boys before her eyes, their thumbs dashing hastily across the controllers. Finally, the tension in her shoulders relaxed, and she found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor to the side of the couch, feeling like a giddy kindergartener.

She shifted right into their evening like she belonged, adding to the unmindful conversation that accompanied video game playing, throwing in the occasional quip that had even Mark impressed.

"You know, Jim, maybe if you put as much effort into your video gaming as you do into procrastinating at your job, you'd be winning more."

"Wo- _ah_!" Mark chuckled, setting his controller on the table. "Halpert! You really gonna take that, man?"

Jim stood, propping his hands on his hips as he let out a sigh, eliciting chuckles from his taunters.

"Alright, that's quite enough of _that_." He slapped his hands simultaneously against his sweatpants clad thighs before continuing. "Anybody hungry? I think the lady with the smart mouth still owes us dinner."

Waggling his eyebrows as he watched her smirk and roll her eyes, he cocked his head towards the kitchen and followed her into the tile. As she dialed the number and listened to the ringing on the other end, a reminiscent chill creeped up her spine from the last time they were in this situation. Jim leaned ever so casually against the kitchen cabinets, watching her profile as she placed their order. As she hung up and handed the phone back to him, he let his fingers linger against the back of her hand for just a second longer than he had to.

"Don't worry, Scorpion, your nourishment will be here in thirty minutes or less."

"Hey now, I'll have you know that my fighting skills are going to suffer severely without proper sustenance."

Eyes travelling to the floor, she enjoyed the giggle that filled her lungs, eventually tapering off. The silence echoed throughout the kitchen, only broken by the background sounds of Mark firing up a new game in the living room.

"So, Beesly, did you make this crosstown trek just to make good on our little pizza bet?"

Slowly, her eyes found his, waiting with a deeper green than normal. She bit her lip, drawing her gaze back to the tile that she was becoming all too familiar with before responding to his inquiry.

"Um, actually, Roy and I kind of had a fight earlier today and I, uh... I kind of just wanted to get away. You know?"

His thoughts immediately flashed to their argument in the office the afternoon before. He'd been so proud of her in that moment, but their argument obviously hadn't ended there. He gave himself time to consider their situation: once again, she was fighting with her fiance. Once again, she was running to _him_. Once again, he felt the overwhelming urge to scoop her into his arms, tell her to leave him, and confess the feelings of paralyzing love that he carried for her. But as her tiny body shrunk ever so slightly into his kitchen cabinets, he realized that _he_ was her solace, and in that moment, he swore that he could feel his heart growing.

His smile was apologetic and sad, but warm and reassuring. He would spend his entire night making her forget every part of Roy that made her feel inadequate.

"Well then, consider this the stress free Beesly Night of Fun!"

She grinned sheepishly up at him, nodding her head a few times before she noticed his outstretched hand and took it graciously, letting him lead her back into the living room, where they stumbled upon Mark bent awkwardly behind the television.

"I figured we could switch to something we could all play," he said, looking proud of himself as he offered up two N64 controllers and loaded Super Smash Brothers onto the screen. An hour later, they were sitting side by side by side on the small couch, empty pizza boxes now joining the mountain of garbage on the coffee table, with a makeshift scoreboard propped against its lip. According to the tally marks, Pam was definitely in the lead.

He didn't so much care that he was losing in a game that he had grown up training against his brothers to be the best at. It was the giggles that radiated from her lips that sent flutters to his heart. It was the way she was perched cross-legged between him and his roommate, elbows jutting from side to side, tongue stuck between her lips in concentration, that truly pulled his gaze from the television, rendering his on-screen character dead more often than not.

She was constantly shifting between them, her knees hitting both men in the thighs as she turned her body from side to side.

"Hey, Bees, you _do_ know that moving your _own_ body has no effect whatsoever on what your character's doing, right?" he quipped, socking a killing blow from his Link to Mark's Bowser.

"Oh yeah? Well if it _isn't_ working," she began, shoving her hips more insistently into his side, "then why are you on your ass?" She shifted her gaze long enough to shoot him a toothy grin, then returned her eyes to the screen as her Princess Peach continued the assault on Mark while Jim's character respawned from the sky. While she concentrated her efforts on finding power-ups and getting the most kills, Jim allowed himself a moment to simply bask in the glow that positively radiated from her. At least for these passing moments, she was carefree, without worry.

And his character was dead, yet again.

"What was that about my strategies not working?" She twisted her body at the waist to watch the expression on his face switch from eye rolling to satiric sadness at his loss before adding another tally mark underneath her name on the whiteboard.

"Suck on that, Halpert." Her tongue poking out between her teeth almost killed him, but he remembered where he was and who else they were sharing a couch with. As if by some telepathic communication, Mark yawned suddenly, stretching his arms above his head as little squeaks sounded from his lungs.

"I think I'm gonna call it a night, guys. Thanks for dinner, Pam. And for thoroughly kicking my ass at a game I thought I was good at."

She giggled and waved as Mark disappeared up the stairs, leaving her alone on the couch with Jim. Suddenly realizing how close they were on the couch without a second side to the sandwich of people, she lifted her stiff body to a standing position, collecting the garbage they had littered around the room.

"Hey now, you're a guest, cut that out." He watched as her body bent gracefully, her casual jeans and t-shirt combo hugging her curves as she did something as simple as cleaning up.

"Nonsense," she began, plucking the last napkin from the coffee table and adding it to her pile. "It's the least I could do after essentially inviting myself over."

Throwing his hands up in defeat, he helped her carry the pile to the kitchen, both wordless until they ended up back on the same couch that had almost killed him a week ago. He let his eyes settle on her features, trying to distinguish the worry lines from the peace that had settled upon her arrival, noting which of those had come from Roy and which had been his own doing. He wanted to know- _needed_ to know what had caused her hardships tonight. If not for his own curiosity, but to find the root of her pain and take it away. As he opened his mouth, the question lingering on the tip of his tongue, she beat him to the punch.

"I don't want to talk about it."

His disappointment was not brought on by the wall she had put up, the lack of knowledge, but by the sheer dejection that had suddenly washed over her. There shouldn't ever have been a reason in the world for her face to be painted with such sadness, making her body so small. He wanted to reach out, wrap her in his arms, save her from the pain that she had been trying to hard all night to push away. He settled instead for wrapping his hand around hers, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

"Okay."

"I'm just...I'm so _done_ with this, Jim."

Biting her lip in this instance was to stop the tears, and as her glassy eyes wavered up to him, he didn't care what sort of boundaries he had set for himself. He pulled her small body to his chest, cradling her head with his hands, muttering, "Hey, it's gonna be okay," as his fingers passed over her curls. In any other moment, his body would be radiating heat, filling with tension, pulsing at her contact. But right now, holding her in comfort filled him with an immense sadness, a desperation to absorb the pain she was feeling.

She pulled away, reluctantly so, and met his gaze with a shy smile.

"Hey," he began softly. "Let's talk about something else. Literally anything else. I hate seeing you so sad."

Though his voice had tapered into a whisper, it still sent a shock through her spine. His hands had trailed from where they held her moments ago to rest lightly atop hers, clenched in her lap. She nodded up through lidded eyes, still attempting to hold in the emotions she'd been fearing and avoiding since the previous night. It was only once she had allowed herself to relax in Jim's presence that she realized that, while her anger at Roy hadn't been misplaced, it certainly had been masking the absolute pain that she'd been harboring. Sitting here in Jim's arms, it was about to crash over her like a tidal wave, and the way he was looking at her with pure sorrow etched into the lines on his face surely wasn't helping.

She was lost for words, knowing that she should urge him along in his quest to change the subject, but also knowing that if she opened her mouth, she would more than likely lose it.

"When I was six years old I had to go to the emergency room to get a rock removed from my nose."

His blurted words interrupted her stream of thoughts, leaving her with no choice other than to burst out in surprised laughter.

"Wait, what?"

He chuckled, squeezing her hands once more before letting them drift away to his own lap. She was smiling again.

"So, um, my brothers and I were really into superheroes growing up and...god, this is so embarrassing." His eyes traveled to the ceiling as he smiled in embarrassment, a warm pink tickling his cheeks. "So, Tom and Pete, they convinced naive little me that if I wanted to be like a superhero, I'd have to pick a superpower. Seems logical, right?"

Pam, completely enthralled by his tale, was nodding enthusiastically, encouraging him to continue.

"Right, so somehow along this whole process of me deciding my power, they convinced me that super strength was the way to go. And the only way to get 'rock hard' muscles, was to _literally_ send that message to my brain."

"Oh my god, Jim, you _didn't_."

"I _did_."

Her tears now stemmed from laughter, and she used the back of her hand to wipe them away.

"They helped me pick the 'perfect rock' to do the job, and then...I mean, you can guess where this is going."

"What did your parents say?" she managed between hearty laughter.

"Oh, they were _pissed_. I mean, I obviously got yelled at, but since I was their precious baby boy, they laid into Tom and Pete the most. Grounded them for two weeks And after I did such a good job being brave for the doctor, I got an extra large blizzard from Dairy Queen."

He looked so proud of himself as laughter continued to ebb from her lungs.

"Larisa was only two at the time, so of course, she was _super_ freaked out because my mom tried to get it out with tweezers and all that did was shove it up further and make my nose start to bleed. So we had a screaming toddler, a bleeding six year old, and two bozos arguing with my dad about how it wasn't technically their fault because they didn't _make me_ put the rock up my nose. It was like a circus, Pam. I swear."

She tried to imagine a much younger Jim, wanting to impress his older brothers so much so that that it possessed him to force a rock up his nose. The chaos of having four children reacting so differently to that situation made her wonder what her life might look like ten years down the road.

"Alright, Beesly. It's your turn."

"My turn for what?" she asked, caught off guard.

"Embarrassing childhood stories is obviously the theme here. I told you mine, so, I'm _waiting_."

She pondered for a moment, selecting a memory that could compare to Jim's, one that would return the joy he had brought to her at such a breaking point.

"Okay, now you have to realize, this isn't a story I tell very lightly," she began, already twiddling her thumbs in her lap. He grinned in anticipation.

"So, when I was four, I was going to be the flower girl in my aunt's wedding." Now, it was her turn to blush. "Oh my god, I can't believe I'm telling you this. So, we had gone in for the dress fitting, and I absolutely _loved_ my dress. It made me feel like a Disney princess or something. Well, we got it home, and I wanted to show Penny, because obviously a toddler is going to understand my excitement. Anyway, so I put the dress on-that had fit perfectly at the shop, by the way-and I was _swimming_ in it, Jim. It was like, six sizes too big."

He marveled at the animation she used to tell the stories. It was as if she had transformed into a completely different person in under ten minutes.

"How much did you freak out?"

"I was _freaking out!"_ Their shared laughter filled the room with a new warmth. "I was so nervous! I was supposed to walk down the aisle at my aunt's wedding but the dress didn't fit, and I thought she was going to be super mad at me, so I did the only logical thing I could think of!"

"Which was?"

"Go into my kitchen and eat an entire box of Oreos."

He threw his head back, cackling at her admission as he slapped his thighs.

"Beesly! Oh my god!"

"I didn't know what else to do! I figured I'd have to gain, like, a _lot_ of weight to fit into it the right way, so obviously gorging on Oreos was the best choice."

The image of a tiny Pam Beesly suddenly invaded his sense: a little girl with honey curls, drowning in a fancy dress, with a box of Oreos in her hand. Just like that, he was reminded of a future he would never have.

"So then my mom walks in, sees what I'm doing, and goes absolutely ballistic. She snatches the cookies and starts yelling at me, like, 'Oh my god, Pammy, what were you thinking?!' And of course, even back then, I _hated_ when she called me Pammy, so then _I_ started getting mad, and I was crying and throwing a fit about needing to fit into the dress, and then _Penny_ starts crying, and my dad has _no_ idea what's going on. Well it turns out, they gave me the wrong dress at the store."

" _No_."

"Yes! She called the store and they had given me the wrong one. Problem solved. But not before I had the worst stomach ache of my _life_. I haven't eaten Oreos since."

With his head bowed, laughter continuing to fill him, he stole her gaze, seeing eyes that were no longer troubled, but filled with joy and hope. Over the next hour of their night, he strove to keep that lightness, urging her to trade stories both to keep her focused on the good, as well as to steal glimpses into the Pam Beesly that he knew she tucked away. They learned all sorts of oddities about one another: Jim's pregame rituals before taking the basketball court in high school, Pam's first kiss at a summer camp back in seventh grade where little Pam Beesly broke the rules to sneak out after curfew ("He never wrote me back that summer. By far the worst heartbreak of my _life_ ," she had laughed).

As the hours of the night passed them by, neither of them wanting it to end, she suggested a movie, and he happily obliged, taking her up on the offer to choose, "As part of your 20 questions winnings, good sir." Finding the case that Kimmy had left at their places ages ago, he queued up Legally Blonde, her joy being his only purpose.

He wasn't so much surprised as he was contented when she immediately laid her head on his shoulder. They were friends. Friends could cuddle, right? His arm found its place around her shoulders, and as her knees bent with her feet tucked beside her, he gave himself just one moment to cement this feeling into his mind, the feeling that this should be his every waking moment with her. When her head grew heavy against his body, her soft curls rubbing slightly against his cheek, he smiled that lopsided smile with a hint of sadness, and pulled her to him just a little bit tighter.

The credits to the movie rolled too soon, and he gave himself three turns of the DVD menu reel until he started to shake her awake. Ever so gently, he squeezed her shoulders, whispering, "Pam. Pam. Hey, Beesly?" into her ear. While he truly didn't want her to go, he also didn't want to be _that guy_ who left her there on the couch all night. But the thought of having her asleep in his living room while he slept was so taunting. He gave it a few more tries, for his own conscience.

Removing himself carefully, he watched as her head slowly found its place where his body had been warming it for the past hours of the night, her hands coming to cradle next to her sleeping face. Even in her sleep, she looked like an angel.

He knelt close to her, resisting the urge to brush the curl from her forehead, and whispered, "Hey, Pam. I've gotta be honest with you, this couch isn't the most comfortable thing to sleep on."

She didn't so much as stir.

He sighed, grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch.

To be fair, he _had_ tried. He'd done everything aside from pulling her off the couch, which he refused to do, for personal reasons.

He covered her to the chin, making sure her feet were tucked in, and smoothed the blanket over her impossibly tiny body. Without thought, he gave in to his impulses, bent down, and placed a soft kiss atop the crown of her head. The pulse that shocked throughout his body from that simple contact sent him back on his haunches, and he found himself steadying his movements against her shoulder. Realizing what he'd done, he braced himself for her to awaken, sucking in a breath while intense eyes locked onto her face. But she never did, never wavered at the contact. She was out like a light. As he tentatively made his way towards the stairs, he gave himself one last look at her before he turned off the lights.

She'd known consciously that she was awake, could feel the stifled movements against her cheek, his warm breath at her ears. But at the same time, she didn't have the strength to pull her from her slumber. She'd had this problem as a child: she knew her parents were trying to wake her after falling asleep during a movie, but her body fought against her willingness to wake up, and her dad would eventually wind up carrying her to bed. As she grew older, she'd be left on the couch, waking in the early morning to the sound of the coffee maker. She'd sworn that he'd kissed her on the forehead, but then again, it could've been her subconscious playing tricks on her, and she let that moment turn into dreams as she faded back into true unconsciousness.

The next morning was like deja vu; she was awakened by the wafting scents of cinnamon and coffee, the faint sounds of scratching forks and sizzling in a pan causing her eyes to finally crinkle open. She took her time folding the blanket, fixing the pillows, and smoothing out the wrinkles in the couch. Doing so gave her the opportunity to calm the palpitations in her heart caused by the fact that Jim Halpert was _making her breakfast._ In socked feet and the clothes she'd been wearing the night before, she crossed the ten feet into his kitchen. He turned to face her before she could make a sound.

"Well good morning, Sleeping Beauty. How'd you sleep?"

"Not so bad," she replied. He offered her a smile before turning back to the stove, attending to the pan of French toast. She took her time admiring him, the way he looked in his plain grey t-shirt and green plaid pajama pants. She shivered as his broad shoulders stretched the cotton as he moved the finished slice of French toast to the already mounting plate. Suddenly, she became self-conscious of her own attire, wishing she wouldn't have left her duffel bag in the car. But, then again, how presumptuous would it have seemed if she had come to his door with an overnight bag? As she pondered this, she threw a hand up to her mouth, suddenly realizing that she'd eaten a fair amount of garlic the night before, and she hadn't brushed her teeth.

Jim rounded the table, placing the plate of French toast in the middle of a table already set with plates, glasses, and a half-used bottle of maple syrup. Upon seeing her startled expression, his body filled with worry. Was this too much? It was just breakfast. He braced himself to watching her dash out his front door again, but instead, she tensed in her chair, her fingers still locked in front of her mouth.

"Everything okay there?"

She hesitated, loosening the grip she had before responding through her fingers.

"I just, um, well...Ididn'tgettobrushmyteeth."

His grin made her blush, dipping her head as a smile curled up around her fingers.

As he took his place across from her at the table, words traveled by way of a voice still yet waking up itself, causing her to shiver despite his humor.

"Ya know, Beesly, I'm sure if you start eating, the cinnamon will mask that dragon breath of yours in no time."

She could only roll her eyes, lifting her plate for him to serve her. As they ate in contented silence, she marveled at the way the Sunday morning sunlight came in through the windows, making the chocolate color in his hair stand out. She noticed the five o'clock shadow that he hadn't bothered to trim before coming downstairs to cater to her, and found herself wondering what it would feel like beneath her fingers, her thoughts interrupted when Mark came barreling down the stairs to join them, not even flinching as he engaged Jim in conversation about a basketball game that would be taking place that afternoon. Pam was comfortable to lose herself in her thoughts, smiling as she noticed that this time, the French toast was cooked to perfection.

On Monday morning, she was welcomed into the office by a box of Chips Ahoy cookies. The Post-It note fastened to the top in his handwriting said _Just in case you need to fit into another flower girl dress. Hope these don't give you a tummy ache._


	22. Chapter 22

The amber color of the Jack Daniels paired nicely with the rich, sticky brown of the Coca-Cola. He marveled at the way the two liquids danced together, fizzing and popping before becoming one. Once his concoction had settled, he held it to his deep green eyes for inspection, waiting for the last of the bubbles to dissipate before finally knocking back a hearty swig. After the week he'd had, the immediate warmness that settled over his body was definitely welcomed.

He hadn't participated in a serious jinx since grade school, but her insistence that the rules were "unflinchingly rigid" and the way that she literally skipped around like a schoolgirl upon realizing that he would be held under this torture for hours had him wrapped around her fingers.

As if he wasn't already.

The entire morning was a catch-22: while he was subjected to silence until just after lunch and unable to comment on prime Dwight debauchery, the way her eyes lit up, her smile positively glowing each time she saw him struggling, made him weak in the knees. It was a new, strange sort of intimacy that he hadn't known existed until he'd lost at a schoolyard game. He couldn't have cared less that he was losing out on sales. He made up for the typical snarky comments bringing her laughter in the ways that his own misery was putting a smile on her face.

But all in good fun, of course.

The true pain came when she had, unbeknownst to her, broke his spirit over a mid-morning break. If he could truly _tell her anything_ , then why was there still a shiny band encircling a finger on her left hand? Why, after all these weekends of time spent together, spent _intimately_ together, was she still making a conscious choice to be in a toxic relationship? He'd "told her everything" short of _I'm in love with you._ As his face fell in that realization, the cognizance that, if he were to truly "tell her anything," _that_ statement was all that he was holding back, he let his face fall, not caring one ounce that his true colors were as exposed as if she'd painted them there with the art supplies he knew she kept tucked away.

He'd spent a good amount of time that night holed up in deep thought. There was a moment, perched on the desk chair in his bedroom, enveloped in choice by total darkness, that he was transported back to his high school days; moments with "that scary music" as his mother so lovingly referred to it, blasting out of the speakers as he contemplated the meaning of life. He'd always done his thinking better with the lights off; less sensory stimulation and more space for his brain to have a clean slate, he had convinced himself. No matter what path his dancing cognition wandered down, he always seemed to wind up at the same place: _Why don't you just_ tell her _already?_

It wasn't that the thought hadn't crossed his mind. But as he recalled a scene not so many weekends ago that ended with her literally running from his bed in a panicked haze, he was reminded of the sheer truth of the matter: she was engaged, she was confused, and if he was being honest with himself, she was _scared_. She'd said that she needed time, time to sort and process and figure it all out. But what did she need to _figure out_ , exactly? Were they even on the same page? Was this all just a waste of time?

Drowning the second third of his much-more-Jack-than-Coke, more memories of their week trickled into his wake, the nervous tingles stemming from a mixture of guilt and the alcohol that was slowly making its way through his bloodstream. When he'd vented to Toby, it had been as a friend. Toby was the only other sane person in that office aside from Pam, and he very well couldn't tell _her_ that watching her plan her wedding was actually slowly killing him. Although the "complaint" (was it really a complaint? Wasn't it just expressed frustration?) had been withdrawn, he'd seen the dead look in her eyes when he'd confessed that it had been him. He'd never really been that blatant with her about his feelings. They'd dance around the subject with _You should break up with him's_ and _You deserve so much more's_ and stuffed crust pizza to boot. But that was all Jim seemed to be good for: skirting the issue. He thought that his subtleties would nudge her in the right direction. Instead, they'd gone and gotten him caught with his foot in his mouth, all progress they'd been making halted in that cold stare she'd given him, a simple "Okay" being her only response to his slip-up.

But at the same time, he pondered, slugging back the rest of his drink, he had every goddamn _right_ to complain, to have her feel just a _sliver_ of the pain he'd been carrying since he saw that ring on her finger all those years ago. There was no way in hell she wasn't feeling this too. Or, at the very least, that she knew about his feelings for her. To call her that thick, or to think that she could play him this hard? He couldn't imagine her being that person. So he shoved those thoughts from his consciousness, choosing instead to replace them with another mind-numbing beverage in the dark confines of his bedroom.

She had to know.

She _had_ to know.

There was no way she could cognizantly _choose_ to spend time with him, to run to him whenever things with Roy became too much to bare, to share the warmth of his body and not feel the _pulse_ that hammered with each of her intentional touches.

As the glasses drained more easily, he found himself proud of his actions, glad that he had only offered an explanation and not an apology. What was there to apologize for? Having feelings? Loving her?

It had been the last straw, the one that broke the proverbial camel's back. That lifeless look in her eyes, like she didn't even care one lick about his feelings, had driven him over the edge. Making the drive to corporate was impulsive and rash and almost senseless; he'd almost turned around quite a few times. But upon hearing of the opening in Stamford, knowing that he'd be able to put all of that distance between them, those cold eyes drove him to nod in understanding at Jan's offer. He'd have time to think about it of course.

If she hadn't figured it out by now, she probably never would.

He had to take the transfer.

For his own _sanity_ , if nothing else.

Of course, making that decision on four hours and too much alcohol would be incredibly irresponsible, and his mother would give him a stern talking to and a good long cry if he ever decided to leave Scranton, but the more he thought about his newfound option, the better a two and a half hour distance seemed.

She could plan her wedding from two and a half hours away and he'd never know the difference.

When Roy bumbled into the office to see her for lunch, and they'd share some flirtatious banter, he'd be in an entirely different state.

But at the same time, who would be there to wipe away her tears, to hold her, to tell her that everything would be okay?

Part of him ached to remain in that role.

A larger part of him, one fueled by bitterness and Jack Daniels, quipped a stern, "Fuck that," as he trotted back into the kitchen for a third, and probably unnecessary refill. She had a fiance. Soon, she'd have a husband. She didn't need a damn shoulder to cry on.

The soft knocking stopped him from tipping the bottle enough to topple the liquid into his glass. When he opened the door, her eyes were no longer cold and uncaring, but glassy and swimming with emotion. He was in that state of tipsy asperity that had him simultaneously wanting to scoop her into his arms and slam the door in her face. He chose the middle ground of opening the door rather over-exaggeratedly and waving his free arm for her to come in without much more of a greeting. To say he was shocked when she went straight for the kitchen and poured herself a drink would be the understatement of the year.

Her small frame perched on the edge of the chair she had sat in meer days prior, happily munching breakfast and sharing casual conversation. Tonight, with hollow, dark eyes, she traced the rim of her glass after she had already had herself a hearty sip, her eyes switching from fixing attentively on her drink to covertly observing his actions from a lidded gaze. He stood cautiously behind the chair across from her, one hand resting on its back, just watching. He gave up after a minute. He shouldn't feel like a prisoner in his own goddamn house. It was his stark actions, loud movements that finally drew her out of the haze that she'd been in since deciding to make the drive to his doorstep.

He'd opted for just Coke this time, and, in an effort to spur her words first, sipped so slowly on the carbonation that it resembled the way you'd take the communion wine at church on Sunday morning. The buzz he'd received from his earlier indulgences gave him the want to stare her down gently, making sure she knew he was aware of her presence, that he wasn't backing down, that she came here with a purpose and he wasn't going to let her avoid that. Finally, sighing in defeat, the words lodged themselves from her throat into existence.

"I was an ass to you."

His lips fought with him, wanting so much to curl upwards at her use of profanity. The hardened part of him won out, keeping his deepest desires at bay in order to hear the rest of her confession, nodding slightly to encourage her to continue.

"You were only being honest with Toby. And the fact that you had him take it back so you wouldn't hurt my feelings? God, Jim, that's just so _you_."

At this, he allowed the slightest hint of a smile, ducking his eyes bashfully to draw away from his smirk.

"Anyway. What I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry for being so...so _cold_ to you. You didn't deserve any of that, especially after how...just how incredibly _wonderful_ you've been lately. And I went and ran all of that over with a train, all because you didn't want to listen to me planning my wedding while you were trying to work."

 _Correction: Didn't want to listen to you plan your wedding to that neanderthal of a man,_ period.

"God, I'm such an _ass_."

"Jesus, Beesly, calm it down with the swearing over here. I'm gonna make you start adding quarters to the swear jar in a second."

He couldn't help it. The quip slipped out, and the fraction of a smile that she finally cracked was all worth it. She was like a drug; he'd get his high any way that he could and regret his choices later. Their laughter was short lived. He didn't know what to say. _Yes, you were being kind of an ass_ didn't sound appropriate, but denying how she'd hurt him wasn't it either. He was done being a pushover. So he settled for silence, finding a keen interest in the bubbles fizzing to the top of his soda. Her posture mirrored his, staring intently at the liquid pooling in the bottom of her glass, not quite enough to cover the bottom anymore as she swished it from side to side, watching as the molecules raced for space to occupy.

"Jim?"

Her voice was small, almost frightened in tone.

"Yeah?"

"Why did it bother you so much that I used work time to plan my wedding?"

And there it was. The opening for his floodgate. The opportunity he'd been searching for not moments before her arrival.

 _Because I'm in love with you. Just say it, you idiot. Tell her the truth. Make this all go away._

Instead, the emptying glass in his large hands was once again holding his interest, words becoming mush as they travelled from his brain to his cottony tongue.

"Um, I mean...Pam…"

It was her turn to sit and stew, eyes trained on him, encouraging him to just _say it._

To just _tell her why._

It had been itching, clawing at her frontal lobe since the moment she knew the complaint was his.

Why?

 _Why_ had her _best friend_ been upset that she was planning her wedding at her desk?

He should be _happy_ for her, _ecstatic_ that she was finally getting her happy ending.

But that question begged the same answer as so many others.

Why was her best friend upset that she was planning her wedding at her desk?

Probably the same reason that her best friend had come over in the middle of the night to fix the broken toilet that her fiance had left behind.

The same reason that her best friend had opened his door and hers time and time again to simply _be there_ for her.

The same reason that her best friend had that same dopey grin on his face whether she was cuddled against his chest or sitting across from her at the breakfast table and putting up with her morning breath like it was his favorite thing in the world to do.

So why wouldn't he just _say it_?

When Roy had left her tonight with no more than, "Jet ski weather, baby! See you Sunday!" she hadn't even flinched. Truth be told, Jim had been on her mind far before Kenny had called. She was secretly hoping something would pull Roy away, because deep down in her core, she _needed_ to see this side of Jim, this side that harbored the only true anger she'd ever seen directed towards her. Though frightening, she welcomed it, but only because she longed to know its source, to know if the shit storm that had swallowed her head over these past few months was warranted.

The deep breath he took was fueled by the air she held.

"I just don't know how much longer I can go on watching you act like this is... _right_. Like this is the way that you're meant to spend the rest of your life, and that you're actually _okay_ with it."

The stunned expressions were almost mirror images, save for a height difference. He hadn't expected to be so blunt, but once the words were out, he felt immensely lighter. Her body was awash with contrasting bouts of chills and heat, as if trying to decide what to feel.

"What...what do you mean?"

She needed him to keep talking, to make her deepest truths a reality rather than holed up deep inside of her.

He was extinguished, but he pressed on, sighing as he realized that the front he had tried to convince himself existed where in which he stood up for himself paled in comparison to pleasing her.

"C'mon, Pam. Look around you. Look at where you are right now. It's Friday night. And you're _here_."

"I came here to apologize."

She was quick to defend herself, not letting him off the hook that easily. She just needed to hear him say it, just _once_. To make it the truth. To wake up the part of her that had been asleep for so long that she couldn't do it on her own. She needed _Jim_ to be her proverbial Prince Charming.

He ran his fingers through his hair, avoiding the stares that seemed to be following him wherever his eyes went, leaving him no room to hide.

"What do you want me to say, Pam?"

"I want you to tell me the truth."

That was ambiguous enough for him.

"The truth? You mean, the fact that I hate seeing him hurt you, every _single_ day? That I hate watching your spirit break and the little pieces that make you, Pam, my _best friend_ come apart like a friggen cookie crumbling? Is that what you want to hear? How much that tears me apart?"

She was stunned, but in a way that made the blood course through her veins in a new, invigorating way.

"Do you want to hear how much I both love and hate that you have to run to me? That I want nothing more than to comfort you, but that I damn well shouldn't have to do it, too?"

She nodded quicker now, watching as his eyes welled with tears caused by pain and anger.

"I don't know how much longer I can watch you put yourself through this, Pam. And when I had to watch you sit at your desk and work out the details of how you're going to pledge your life to him for...for _ever_. I couldn't take it, Pam."

He's called her by her name so many times now that it's got her dizzy in the head. She isn't "Pam" unless he's serious, and if it wasn't the impact of the words, it definitely shows in the way that he addresses her.

"So…" she began, her eyes searching his, urging him to just _tell her_ , "tell me what you want then, Jim."

He searches his kitchen in a discreetly frantic matter, wishing for the answers to appear on the walls, when suddenly he _does_ get his answer. It is not in words, nor gestures, but in the way her ring catches off the dim fluorescence that he finds his words.

"I want...I just...I want you to be happy."

And there it was. His cowardice, absolutely building up everything she'd been chinking away at, and deflating him like a popped balloon.

She has nothing left in her as she stands from the table, depositing her glass in the sink before she takes his hand. He doesn't question her as she draws him up the stairs, leads him to his bedroom, and pulls him down atop his comforter, clutching to his chest for dear life as she nudges her head under his chin, her legs folded neatly across his. She can't find it in herself to do anything more than simply _be_ here. She can't find the words to say, the means to tell him that this, right here, is her happiness. She settles for silent tears, his breathing quick under her cheek, his stiff arm that finally relaxes and curls around her, securing her safely to his side.

It is in these moments, as her breathing becomes slower, hours later, that he pictures the two opposing directions in which his life is trying to pull him. One to taking a risk on love, the other to Stamford, Connecticut.

She is positively asleep when he finally shifts them enough to pull the spare blanket off the end of the bed, tucking one side snugly under her body. He strokes her curls, hugging her as tightly as he can, as he gives those words a test run, realizing that he has to make a choice.

"I love you, Pam."

It is barely a whisper into the night, caught in her curls, sticking to them like a web. It feels so good, so _freeing_ to finally let those words become a reality. But he knows by the slow, shallow breathing that she hasn't heard them. But she will. Because he can't make this decision without giving her all the facts, without laying it all on the line.

Her face is a tattoo of worry as she sleeps, the lines in her brow deepening when she wakes to the shrillness of his bedside landline. Somewhere in the night, they had shifted; he was wrapped around her from behind, one arm underneath her side, no doubt tingling and asleep. But when his right arm reached behind them to answer the call, his left stayed rooted to its spot, still holding tightly against her waist. She, in turn, scooted back farther, her chin nudging into the crook of his arm as if trying to bury herself as deeply into him as she could possibly go.

At their proximity, she heard his sister on the other end of the call confirming plans for a late brunch. She felt him hang up the phone, then move his right arm back to squeeze around her for one more lingering moment before words tickled her ears, his breath hot against her skin.

"I should probably get up and get ready."

She nodded, an _mhm_ escaping as they both reluctantly peeled themselves away from his bed, clothes from the night before wrinkled and stained with the scent of one another.

The walk to the front door was silent, the embrace immediate and expected. The way she threw her arms around his neck and stood on her toes so that her cheek was resting against his chin, however, was not. It was her lips pressing softly to his cheek that truly threw him for a loop, making the urge to hold her tighter all the more insistent. When she finally pulled away, rocking on her feet, her eyes were a darker green, searching his almost blackened pupils for one last shred of _anything_. In his silence, she offered him a soft, "Bye, Jim," and was gone.


	23. Chapter 23

It was weird that Roy was trying to comfort her, right?

She'd come home, showered, changed into the first pair of sweats she could find, thrown her hair into a messy bun, slipped her glasses behind her ears, and taken up residence on the couch, her knees tucked up under her chin as a House marathon played in the background. Her thoughts had filtered into the doltish realm of, "How _does_ Hugh Laurie mask his true British accent?" in her attempt to prohibit her thoughts from running twelve hours into the past.

She'd wanted him to use his words, the _truth_ for once, but once again he was dancing around the subject in a way that put her own dorky moves to shame. She'd all but asked him flat out, all but _said the words_ , "Just tell me you love me already!" Hadn't, "Tell me what you want," been enough? Clearly, it hadn't been. But what was the threshold of giving up? _She_ was the one with the issue. _She_ was the one with the impending marriage. Maybe that was the problem.

Maybe _she_ was misinterpreting things.

No.

She shook her head, banishing that thought from existence.

There was no realm of possibility that he didn't have this aching in his heart, this burning in his chest, this tightening in his throat every time they so much as glanced too long at one another, too. He had to be sick and tired of the jelly beans by now. His true craving was the eyes and curls that sat just beyond.

So why couldn't he just _say it_?

Unless it _was_ just a crush.

A harmless little crush.

He wanted to call her his best friend and cuddle and have a relationship without really having a relationship until the right girl came along.

The _right_ girl.

Who was she kidding?

How could frumpy Pam Beesly be the _right girl_ for the tall, quirky but handsome, Jim Halpert? He'd bagged Katy, for god's sake. Maybe that was it. What was it the kids were calling it these days? Friends with benefits? But Katy had _certainly_ gotten more on the benefits end. Friends who pretend to date each other?

Friends who are more of a couple than the engaged parties?

 _God_ she hated this. Every overthought, every eggshell that she'd been walking on. She wanted this to be done and over with.

She had a wedding in a month's time, and unless he grew a set of balls in the next thirty days, she was going through with it.

She chuckled that how cynical that sounded.

 _Go through with it?_

A wedding wasn't something you just " _got through_." A wedding was a celebration, a sacrament, a promise in the eyes of God and the ones you loved that you were pledging your _lives eternally_ to one another. But all of a sudden, eternity sounded like an awfully big commitment.

The chill in her body settled as her image of eternity shifted from jet skits and weekend ragers well into their forties to picnics and parks and basketball games in the driveway. But how could she be certain of this, of _any of this_ , if he wouldn't open up his goddamn mouth?

When he'd found her on the couch, stomping in the house not too long after she'd finally gotten to a good place in beating the dead horse of her relationship drama, her eyes were hollow, and her brow seemed fixed into a permanent furrow. He had approached her tentatively, still skating on the thin ice from the night before.

"Hey baby, is everything okay?"

Her gaze remained ridgid on the television set as if nothing new had entered her environment, but her lips told a different story, one lined with the newfound honesty she'd warmed up to as of late.

"No, Roy. Everything isn't okay."

It wasn't sarcasm or bitterness, but flatness that buttered her words, which put him that much more on edge. Almost immediately, he found himself on one knee in front of the couch. He hadn't been in this position for almost three years when he'd half-assedly asked her to marry him. With a large hand softly covering her knee, he whispered, "Is there anything I can do? Anything I can help with?"

It was then that she finally cracked, the dam bursting, emotions flooding from every pore in her head. She was nestled against his chest before the first bout of tears could find the floor, her head fitting in the palm of his hand. His quiet _Shhh's_ and muttered _It's okay, Pammy, I've got you's_ vibrated ironically in her ears.

It was satirical, the way that he made them dinner so she could be alone in her conflicting thoughts about leaving him to be with another man. The mockery screamed as he drew her a bubble bath so that she could have a sanctuary dedicated to the tall and lanky rather than the stout and stocky. It was paradoxical that he cradled her so gently against him when they went to bed that night, his rough stubble not so coarse tonight when his cheek hugged hers, while she squeezed her eyes tightly, doing her damndest to conjure the feeling of someone else wrapped around her.

"I can't wait to be married to you," he whispered sweetly in her ear, the gravel in his voice unexpectedly warming. "We'll finally be husband and wife. Together forever, baby. Just you and me."

Eventually his breathing became heavy, slow against her back. She squeezed the last remaining tears from her eyes, and against every screaming fiber in her body, snuggled deeper into his embrace.

This was it. This was _certain_. _This_ was real.

She was marrying Roy.

If Jim had a backbone, he sure wasn't making it evident. But Roy? Roy had taken that chance, had stuck with her for almost a decade, and wasn't letting go. Jim was her best friend. Would always be her best friend.

The reality of that slammed right into her gut, and stole her breath as she twisted into another sleepless night.

* * *

"You know mom and dad would kill you, right?"

It was Sunday afternoon at the Halpert house. Pete, Tom, their wives and children, along with both Halpert parents, were cramped in the living room, the noise deadened by the closed off kitchen walls. He'd been playing an endless game of go-fish with his not-so-kid sister Larisa for the past forty-five minutes, and within the first round of cards being exchanged, she'd weaseled every detail of his love life out into the open. She'd been calm and complacent, nodding and scrunching her eyebrows at all the appropriate times, as he lay down pairs of matching numbers. Though she was the youngest, Larisa was undoubtedly the smartest of the Halpert crew, and his go-to when he just didn't know what to do anymore. He'd gotten to the point in the story where he was considering a literal out-of-state transfer just to put some distance between himself and the girl who had stolen his heart, and his sister sat across from him-rightfully so-shaking her head.

He threw down three two's, released a huffy breath, and avoided her grin, the one that mirrored his own typical lopsided smugness.

"Yeah, I do. But what do you expect me to do at this point, Riss?"

"Uhm, I don't know Jimmy. Probably _not_ move to Connecticut just to get away from her? Maybe try telling the poor girl how you feel?"

She was smirking at him over her cards in that _I know you're not really_ this _thick, brother_ look that she gave him when it was obvious that he knew better. He rolled his eyes, annoyed, but simultaneously knowing that had literally _asked_ for her help not an hour ago. Still, annoyance and frustration were the safer route when compared to breaking down, something he rarely allowed himself to do, _especially_ when his older brothers were yards away in the other room. He chucked his cards down and folded his head into his hands as his fingertips massaged the dull throbbing at the top of his skull.

"Why does this have to be so _hard_?"

The heels of his hands pushed into his cheeks, discombobulating his features into a mushy mess that urged Larisa's chuckles. Setting down her cards, she pulled her brother's hands into her own and squeezed gently.

"It doesn't, Jimmy. I promise you, it doesn't. Now, do you want my honest opinion, or are you going to stay crabby with me all night?"

He crinkled his eyebrows and pursed his lips at her, feigning the best crabby look in his reservoir.

"I want your opinion, but I also reserve the right to stay crabby because I'm on the brink of misery here and I deserve to have feelings, too, damnit."

They were a mirror image as eyes momentarily lit up with silent laughter, the calm before the storm, so to speak, but synchronously dropping to a more serious gaze. Jim's eyes screamed _Help me_ while Larisa's whispered _I'll do my best._

"Listen, Jimmy. I don't do the whole 'girl world' thing very often. But from what I've been through, and from what I understand, this Pam chick feels a whole lot more for you than she's letting on."

His eyes lifted from where they had been resting on the table, urging her to continue, but so glassy and hoping, _pleading_ that her words echoed his own thoughts so that he wasn't the only one in the world with this feeling, that it sent her back to their childhood days when he would fall down and get hurt and she'd run go get mommy. Mommy couldn't help them right now.

"But you have to see her side of things, too. She's _engaged,_ Jim. She's getting _married_ next month."

"Don't you think I know tha-"

"I'm not done."

She edged her hand out to stop his words, and he rolled his eyes, the annoyance settling up permanent residence in his brows, wishing he hadn't gotten her started in the first place. He didn't want to hear for the thousandth time how Pam was engaged, how Pam was getting married, how Pam was in no place to be falling in love with other men. He _knew that_. _God_ , did he know that by now.

"Put yourself in her shoes. If _you_ were engaged to someone you'd been with for years, and you all of a sudden started having feelings for her because you thought she liked you back, do you think you'd ruin what you already had going for you, what was already so permanent, for a _what if_? God, Jim, she doesn't even _know_ you love her! What if _she_ was the one misinterpreting things, thinking you had feelings for her, and she called off a _wedding_ when you only really wanted her friendship?"

"Okay, but I wouldn't have allowed myself to _be_ in a toxic relationship with such a shit for brains piece of-"

"Stop. James Halpert. Stop that right now. I see exactly what you're doing and I won't allow it."

She had that look on her face, the one that looked exactly like his mother when she'd caught him sneaking out to go to Dustin McDermott's rager back in eleventh grade instead of going to his Spanish tutor's house like he'd said he would. That _you've been caught and I'm not even going to stand for excuses_ look. With no other options, he surrendered.

"That's now what I mean and you know it."

He did. He knew exactly what she meant, and exactly what she didn't mean. He mirrored the words in his head for confirmation as she said them aloud.

"If you were in a relationship, you know for damn sure you'd want _some_ sort of confirmation that you weren't throwing everything you knew to be true in the trash. Tell her, Jim. Tell the poor girl how you feel. God knows she's probably dying inside just as much as you are. Put yourself in her shoes."

He was suddenly overwhelmed with the image of his size eleven feet squeezing into her tiny white Keds. It was comedic, really, with a cartoonish humor. But those Keds, those stupid white shoes, brought back so much more than the laugh that had been almost immediately stifled by the onslaught of memories: her drunken speech, her passionate shouts and whoops and hollers, her lips crashing into his. Whether under the guise of alcohol or not, she had made the choice to embrace him that night, for however brief a time. She had tasted of salt and lime and tequila, her lips a little chapped, but soft all the same. It had been chaste and celebratory and on the edge of laughter, but those small seconds in his world had lasted an hour. Her tentative questioning when they had left the building later that evening-would he ever find out what she'd wanted to ask him?-stirred up an urgency in his chest that he hadn't felt since that night on the boat.

"Alright. Fine. You win. I'll tell her."

His head was spinning as those words rolled off his tongue. He'd made it a reality, had effectively signed a contract with his little sister. There was no turning back now.

"Good." She was sporting that classic triumphant smirk, eyebrows raised high, arms crossed atop her chest. He could only sigh and chuckle in return, running his hands through the mop of hair on top of his head. Their game having long since ended, he boxed up the cards, pushing back from the kitchen table to head into the living room and make one last appearance before heading home when she stopped him one last time.

"And, big brother?"

"Mhm?"

"Do it _before_ you have to make a decision about the job, okay? Don't make this your ultimate deciding factor. I know you love her, but don't let this ruin you. I can't sit back and watch this ruin you."

His sheepish smile was more hurt than hope, and Larisa's heart ached for her brother as she watched him pat the doorway into their living room, nod curtly, and disappear into their chaotic Sunday traditions.


	24. Chapter 24

He'd promised his sister that he was going to do it, that he was going to finally buck up and tell Pam that he loved her.

But about five minutes into his fifteen minute drive home, he found the loophole: He hadn't promised Larisa _when_ he'd tell Pam. Of course, the clause of _telling her before he made the decision about Stamford_ still loomed over his head, but as the days of the week ticked by, Jim found his list of excuses growing longer and longer.

Monday was no good. Michael was running a very serious staff meeting that involved salacious characters, an off-key soundtrack, and charts full of typos and grammatical flaws. He surely wasn't about to take Pam's attention from _that_ circus and shift it to a life altering profession of love.

Tuesday he was out with clients all day, and Jim Halpert was a serious employee of Dunder Mifflin, Inc. He wasn't about to divert any of his one-hundred percent attention from the customer ( _who is always right_ ) to a revelation that could wait at _least_ twenty-four more hours. After all, it had already been stewing for three years; what, truly, was one more day?

Wednesday was taco night. There was at _least_ a fifty percent chance that his declaration evoked a negative response. And, on the chance that it did, he wasn't going to let it ruin taco night.

Thursday he had a pick up game of basketball with some buddies down at the gym. He obviously couldn't let his teammates down, whether it be ditching them to actually _have_ the conversation, or ditching them to appropriately detox and react _afterwards_. No, Thursday was _definitely_ a no-go.

And Friday? Friday was Casino Night in the warehouse. For as often as Jim complained and tossed eye rolls over to reception at Michael's lewd comments and extraneous ideas, he was actually looking forward to Casino Night. Poker, he could handle. Losing the love of his life in the three seconds it took to unleash the most powerful words in the human language? He couldn't.

So, Casino Night was out.

But on the plus side, Casino Night was far surpassing his expectations. With a few drinks warming his body, his pile of poker chips growing by the table, and a high energy coursing throughout the room, there wasn't much that could bring him down tonight.

It was just that, every time his gaze drifted, it somehow caught the reflection in the sparkles of her dress, and once the sparkle caught his eyes, they were trained there for an impassable amount of time. Every time her laughter filled the air, it seemed to hover on top of the atmosphere, finding his ears as if it was seeking him out specifically. There were the sparkles again; this time, they were twinkling at the spot where her eyes crinkled, where her lips curved upwards, where her tongue poked out between her pearly whites. He lost out, to Ryan of all people, because he'd been so transfixed by the halo of light that seemed to follow her that he hadn't even bothered to look at his cards.

But then, there was Roy, bringing her drinks, watching over her shoulder while her adorable expressions did little to cover any sort of bluff she was trying to pull. There was a reason _he_ was good at cards and she was not: He had been mastering the art of the bluff for years, totally at her expense. If he could put a mask on love for _that_ long, a couple hands of poker were child's play.

But then she was all smiles and fluorescence, her eyes competing with her smile for who could express the most joy. While she had been eyeing her cards, he abashedly allowed his eyes one quick moment to just drink her in, the way her curls were more purposeful, the way her cheeks had a more distinct glow about them, the way her dress dipped low enough to tease the swells of her breasts. He adjusted himself under the table, stifling his groan with the butt of his fist, his teeth flashing behind it when he saw her own smile, the way she rolled her eyes into the corner. She was dorky, but _god_ was she beautiful. The way her laugh escaped her lungs and wrapped itself around him brought him to cloud nine.

But then, she was _taking him all in,_ and his heart was literally fluttering and stopping and fluttering and stopping, his mind racing at her implications, wondering why she'd stared down at the table as she'd made her threat. He'd lost the money, but he'd lose it a thousand times over if he could be rewarded with that smile every time.

 _God_ , he'd needed fresh air after that. Of course, _fresh_ was the operative word. Jan was clouded by nicotine, and he purposely gave himself a foot and a half of breathing room as she reminded him of the bull hanging over his head.

She wanted him to take the job. At the interview, she said he'd be a good fit for Stamford. And with the way he had undeniably lost his breath just by watching Pam from across the table, he couldn't take it anymore. He was going back on his word to Larisa. This was his ultimatum. If she heard his words, jumped into his arms, gave him any indication that she felt the same, he would stay. But if she turned him down, he'd be making Connecticut his new place of residence.

* * *

"I'm getting married soon, and I'm getting along with everybody at work."

The words had bounced around her head all afternoon.

After her revelation this weekend, after choosing to accept the fate of Roy over a choice that would clearly never be made, the first days of work were honestly difficult. It was difficult to hear him joking with others in the bullpen, to trace the outline of his profile and know what it felt like against her skin, molded to her body in the middle of the night. It was difficult just to see him, to recognize his closeness while knowing that whatever was between them had been sealed away. But then again, what was there to seal away? Nothing had ever truly been liberated between them. With that admission, and a few glasses of wine, she swallowed the cold hard truth of the matter: It wasn't hard to forget something that was never really there in the first place.

So she donned a mask now, settled into comfort and complacency and everything that her body was rejecting, was screaming to be wrong and terrible, was protesting that this was not she wanted nor deserved. But she was marrying Roy. Jim was her best friend. That was that.

She hadn't lied to Brian and Rick; she _was_ getting married soon-less than one month now-and she _was_ getting along with everybody at work. Jim had slid nicely back into the best friend role, and with her blinders affixed firmly onto her head, that was all she saw.

Until, of course, that moment in the conference room. Watching those wedding band tapes. The laughing and joking, the _ease_ of it all clawed at the backs of her eyes, bellowing that _This is what your fiance should be doing! and Why are you settling?!_ and This. This _is what you deserve._ But she shut them out, ignored them as they hammered and screamed and shouted and tried to push her good time to the wayside. She was proud of herself, proud that she stood her ground and buried those feelings, until he was rushing to the door, and she felt the need to wrap her hands around his arm, to tug him back, to feel their skin connected just _once_ more. She'd unknowingly pinned him to the door, and the way he stared down at her, the laughter quickly replaced by a staidness that made beads of sweat collect on her collar, quickly reminded her that she had made a choice. She stuffed it down again, shoving him playfully back, selecting another tape that she didn't bother to listen to.

"Jim is great. Being with him just takes away _all_ the stress of planning my wedding."

What a crock of bullshit _that_ was. It stung as it rolled off her tongue. _Takes away all the stress of planning your wedding? Shouldn't you be talking about your_ fiance?

After a week of pretending, she _needed_ whatever this casino thing was about to entail. Knowing Michael, there would be several opportunities to roll her eyes and lose herself in senseless laughter. It was an excuse to pull out that lavender dress that hung in the back of her closet waiting for the right occasion. An excuse to wear her curls a little sexier, her makeup a little edgier. Plus, there would be a bar. And after this particular week, she could definitely use a pick me up or two.

Of course, Roy had complained from the get go.

"Do I have to go?"

"We gotta pay for our own drinks? That's lame!"

"How late is this gonna go?"

"The game starts at 9, Pam! Can we at least be home for that?"

But he was alright. Some of the warehouse guys stuck around, and he knocked back drinks with them. _Good_ , she thought. _He's more tolerable when he's drunk and otherwise occupied._

He was actually a good time when he sat back and watched; finally a cheerleader for her, but only because money was concerned.

Eventually they drifted, mingling with other coworkers, which eased the tension that had unknowingly settled deep in her shoulders, a tension that had only begun the moment she had adorned the disguise of moving on with her life. The strain eased more so, melted off her toes, the moment she sat across Jim, cards in hand, smirks mimicking one another from across the felt. As the words slipped past her lips, it was evident that her inner wants were crackling through the mask in a desperate attempt to escape.

It _obviously_ couldn't have been coy, modest little Pam, the one whose mind had been made up to remain complacent with her life choices, leaving the risky business to someone else, who had let _I'm gonna take you all in_ roll off that sharp tongue. The flirtatious eye wiggling, the smile, the tongue between the teeth? All the work of the inner demons, for sure. So much for keeping the mask on tonight.

He just looked so damn _sexy_. She couldn't help herself. And besides, she had decided that she was getting married in a month. What harm would a little flirting do?

She'd taken his money, but that wasn't what was making the elation course through her veins. It was the innate reaction that her body had to his smile, his smirk, the way his long fingers cradled tiny pieces of numbered cardboard. God, she was really sucking at this pretending thing tonight.

But then they were in the parking lot.

And Roy was leaving.

And she was just feeling so goddamn _good_.

Because Roy's truck was pulling out of the parking lot.

And she was joking and having a good time with Jim.

And he had his hands in his pockets, standing there in that way that said _Everyone else thinks I'm attractive but I'm oblivious myself._

But then the air suddenly changed; she could feel it stiffen in the same way that his body conversely went rigid. His face hardened, eyebrows turning downward as if they were being pulled by his lips which were doing the same.

When he'd asked to talk to her about something, she was sure it concerned Roy. Why he was ditching out on her. The part of her farce that was chipped away by alcohol wished and hoped and prayed he'd say something to flirt back, continue the banter that had been mounting since that last hand of cards was dealt. But those desires were quickly stuffed back down, throwing the front back atop her aura. She covered those desires with a joke, a laugh, fidgeting with her fingers as she showed him all her teeth. The irony must have hit him like a truck when she had said _I'm feelin' kinda good tonight,_ because immediately following, her world was flipped on a dime.

It wasn't, _I have feelings for you,_ or _I love you,_ or _I think I love you._

 _I'm in love with you._

Not a question, no hesitation, no doubt.

Just fact.

I'm in love with you.

And her response?

" _What_?"

She hadn't meant to let the word transfer from thought to reality, but it was all her brain could comprehend at the moment

True to Jim form, he was apologizing almost immediately for the poor timing, his eyes wandering and wavering and brimming with liquid that she was deliberately trying to avoid acknowledging. That would make this real. That would make _all_ of this real. Real wasn't what she needed right now. She'd made her decision, she'd put on the mask, and she was moving on and finally okay with all of that. And here he was, trying to ruin it all.

"What are you doing?"

As if he had any idea of the inner workings of her mind, like he _knew_ that she was trying to move on, to forget their closeness and the way he had made her come _alive_ in the past months, and he was explicitly trying to tear that all down. Of course he didn't. But these moments weren't exactly full of rationality. She was scolding him without cause, could taste the gruff in her own words, but it was her only defense. Without it, she would be reduced to tears in the middle of the Dunder Mifflin parking lot.

It was _What do you expect me to say to that?_ when he came up responseless. Yet, at the same time, he was responding: in the way his eyes pleaded, his head dropped, his shoulders sunk so low. She was breaking him down in order to build her own defenses back up. At the forefront of her mind she knew this was wrong, but she kept going, every intention to tell him no, to make him stop, to turn him down forming sentences in her head. Instead, all that came out was _I can't._

Not I won't.

Not I don't want to.

Not I don't want this.

I _can't._

Because that mask was crackling again, and beneath it, her true self was pulling at every nerve ending to throw herself into his arms.

I _can't._

And he was undeniably shattered.

A strangled _Yeah_ had his head dropping in utter defeat as she plead her case, reminding both him and herself of their friendship, of everything she was trying to convince herself needed protecting. But he was quick to fight back, something he never did. She could tell it was his last ditch effort, his own defenses kicking in, when _Don't do that; I don't wanna do that. I wanna be more than that_ cut in. But she didn't want to do it either. Not anymore. Not after so many nights that began like a dream and ended in a nightmare that left her screaming for the clarity that never came.

Her _I can't_ was decisive this time, less of a question and more of an answer. Inwardly, she was laughing at herself, that strangled apology so insincere and untrue. She wasn't sorry that he misinterpreted things. She was sorry that she was standing here putting up an inner battle with the part of her that had been longing for these things for far longer than she cared to admit. _It's probably my fault_ was the first truth she'd told all night.

His tears were streaking the pavement; she noticed only because she was so focused on following the eyes that refused to meet her, refused to look at the face of the woman who was literally crushing his soul. When he finally succumbed to the final blow, moving swiftly yet heavily past her, her first instinct was to double check that she was still cuffed to a different eternity, swirling the metaphorical chain around her finger both to affirm that she was still promised to another, and as a reminder that she had made her choice.

Many ideas ran through his mind in those following moments. He could get in his car, drive home, and lose it in the bottle. He could get in his car, drive to his parent's house where his sister was home for summer vacation, and let her be his comfort. He could get in his car and drive it to the edge of a cliff.

But as he bolted through the parking lot, not caring whatsoever that his tears were still flowing freely, her words haunted him.

She had said _I can't._

Never once had she said she didn't want to, didn't feel the same. Just _I can't._ And those two words pulled at him until he was squatting on the ground between the building and the hood of his car, hands running through his mop of brown hair. He couldn't just throw this all away on a two minute effort, right? Her heels clacking across the parking lot gave her away, and he glanced up with enough time to see her walk into the building, the back of her hand swiping angrily at her cheeks that were unmistakably red under the hue of the parking lot lights. Taking a deep breath before propping himself against the building, he followed her inside.

The elevator doors closed as the entryway door sealed shut behind him. He'd wait for it to come back, taking his time to choose his words carefully. She'd surely hear him coming up the stairs anyway. He had big feet. They made too much noise.

Plans of defense swirled around his brain like the eye of a storm. He'd already admitted that he was in love with her. What more could he say, could he _do,_ to convince her to just _give in?_ Ideas battled for dominance, ranging from a repeat performance of _You shouldn't be with Roy_ to the newness of _There isn't a thing on this earth I wouldn't do for you._ A tiny version of himself grovelling on his knees made a brief appearance, and while it wasn't entirely pushed to the wayside as an option, he made a conscious effort to leave it at the bottom of the list.

The entire office was lit lowly, eerie silhouettes and stilled shadows contrasted by the only movement he saw through the paned glass. She was leaning against his desk, and by the looks of it, on the phone. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but as those five words escaped her breath, all of his former plans for words strung together to make sentences that expressed his feelings flew out the window.

" _Yeah, I think I am."_

I think I am.

And then the clarity struck him that words were not what this situation warranted. He needed action.

He rounded the reception desk, movements swift and deliberate as he approached her soundlessly. She was hanging up with her mother. He'd decipher that later. Right now, all he saw was her. The way the dim glow of the security lights lit just her eyes, leaving the rest of her to shimmer simply from the sparkles on her dress. He noted the perplexity, the pain, the _longing_ in her eyes, whose disks swelled when he entered her field of vision. His body ached with the need to touch her, hold her _just_ _once_ before he let this go. He was holding on literally and figuratively, needing to give it his all before he lost everything.

Her _Listen_ , _Jim_ barely registered, not because the words came out as a whisper, but because his eyes were already on her lips, hands already spanning her back, before his auditory senses processed the waves in his brain. Her hands were tiny fists, balled against his chest, but no sooner was she defensive than those same hands, the ones that had grasped him this morning and nearly burned a hole in his skin, were weaving their way through his hair, pulling him closer. And in that moment, his entire world blew wide open.

She let out a tiny gasp, air whispering against his lips as she pulled him tighter, her hands gripping at the hair at his nape, leaving a white hot trail as they snaked along his neck, down his chest; he was sure there would be scorch marks in his sweater the next time he bothered to look. But for now, his gaze was transfixed through hooded eyes whose intensity was as black as the sky in the distance; when he glanced up, he found her eyes mirroring in intensity. Their hands hung in the ambiguity between them for only the time that it took their eyes to wander one another's faces, eyes finding eyes, finding lips, and suddenly, she was pulling to him this time.

Those tiny fingers packed quite the power, stippling the front of his sweater as she pressed their mouths together again, more insistent this time, almost hungry. Jim slanted his mouth across hers, his hands wholly enfolding her torso, so much so that the pads of his fingers lightly grazed the sides of her breasts. The moan that crept past her lips transferred into his mouth, and her hands were in his hair again, this time gripping at the back of his head as if she were trying to swallow him whole. He could feel her body melting against his, and was certainly aware of the way his own body was responding as he pulled her up onto her tiptoes so that her body was flush against his, the tenseness of his body bleeding into hers. As he felt her fingertips toying with his ears, and the stirring against her belly, he knew he had to stop before he was knocking photo frames to the floor and hoisting her onto his desk.

But as he released the vice grip that he held, her own clutches were hesitant to let go, lingering on his shoulders, his chest, snaking his abdomen before surrendering to his grasp. He couldn't contain the way his mouth remained agape, a dumbfounded joy emantating in the glow on his cheeks.

She was saying _Me too_. She'd wanted it, too. She was holding his hands, holding his gaze, decidedly sober, and he was ready to _fly_. He tugged gently at her wrists, his nose brushing her upturned lips before his name was on her breath, this time taking them in reverse. When he pulled away, the smile was gone, the gleam in her eyes replaced by tears. She didn't have to utter a word. He just _knew_. It was evident in her eyes, not because of the tears, but by the way her gaze was hesitant, frozen, screaming for help. But he couldn't help her anymore.

"You're really gonna marry him?"

He knew he didn't need to say those words, even as he flicked them into existence, but the only way he was leaving this building was with a clear answer. How ironic that she couldn't even grace him with the decency of words. She nodded her head frantically, keeping her eyes trained on him, and he had to stifle the nervous laughter that threatened in his throat.

"Okay."

He allowed himself one more saving grace, the feel of her shaking hands squeezed between his palms, before he backed slowly away, not permitting a breakdown until the door sealed shut behind him.


	25. Chapter 25

"Alright. Thanks for being so timely with all of this. Yeah, I'll see you Monday. Thanks, Jan."

He snapped his phone shut, rubbed his large palm across his face, and weaved his fingers through the already tousled mop of hair, doing his best to avoid the looks his sister was currently flashing him from where she was perched on their parent's living room couch. With her feet tucked to the side, dark brown hair thrown up in a Saturday morning ponytail, and an old Scranton Volleyball t-shirt hugging her torso, Jim couldn't help but picture his sister as her 10 year old self. He wondered, for a fleeting moment, if he should grab them each a bowl of Frosted Flakes and see if he could find an episode of Power Rangers on Saturday morning cable.

"I can't believe you're going through with this."

He sighed as he claimed the spot next to her. Hanging his head between his knees, he shrugged.

"What else am I supposed to do, 'Riss? I have no future here."

The words echoed ones he'd said to the documentary crew not twenty-four hours ago. A future of selling paper in a stuffy office with mediocre coworkers, he could handle. A future without Pam? He would much rather exist elsewhere.

"No future here? Gee, thanks. What are we? Chopped liver?"

"Oh stop, you know that's not what I meant."

He made eye contact with her for the first time, but not before making his eye roll more than apparent.

"Okay, okay. That was unnecessary. But seriously, Jimmy. I know I told you to sleep on it before you made a decision, but I didn't literally mean _wake up and tell HR to get the ball rolling._ "

He didn't respond right away, choosing instead to let his eyes wander around his parent's living room, the very same one he'd grown up in. In just forty-eight hours, this would no longer be a fifteen minute drive across town. It would be almost three, an entire state line away. Sunday dinners would be more like once a month rather than once a week. He couldn't drop by unannounced, have small talk in the kitchen with his mom and crack a beer with his dad and watch the game, wouldn't be able to hang out with his kid sister whenever he felt the want or the need.

But his family would always be there for him, would always have his back, just as they had last night when he'd barged through the door breathless and panicky. He had called Larisa on his way over, his short words enough to make her understand the nature of his visit. She'd been prepared with a brown paper bag, a bottle of water, and box of tissues. He knew that, no matter how far from home he strayed, they would always be there for him. It was the operative nature of that word _home_ that was forcing him out of Pennsylvania.

She was his home.

And last night, with two simple words, she had shattered the very existence of the term for him.

 _I can't._

He had left the building in a literal struggle to breathe, having to concentrate all of his energy into forcing the air to fill his lungs and then exit back out into the cruel world again. Braced against the hood of his car to quell the dizziness, he had dialed Jan's number. He'd seen her leave. She'd be on the road. It was a quick conversation.

"I've decided to take the transfer."

"Great! I'll start the paperwork as soon as I get back tonight and we can get things moving. Did you have a specific start date set in mind? How much time do you think you'll need to wrap up in Scranton?"

"Oh, I wrapped up in Scranton tonight. If I could start this week, that'd be ideal."

"I'll do what I can."

"Thanks, Jan."

It had taken Pam less time to shatter his entire world than it had to change his place of employment.

He was grateful that Jan couldn't hear the earthquaking shudder in his voice, the way he was forcing the acidic words past his lips. Remnants of his episode tickled sore in his throat as Larisa cut back in.

"So, what'd your boss have to say?"

"She uh, she said that the HR department has three condo options for me already, that I can move in as early as Monday, and I can start my new position this week."

"What are you going to tell mom and dad?"

He smiled at his little sister, the hole in her flannel pajama pants poking out from where her chin now rested on her knees. She only wanted what was best for him.

"It's a vertical move in the company. They'll be glad that I'm taking the promotion. I know it'll be sudden, but I'm sure they'll eventually be okay with it."

He saw the worry flash across her brown eyes, a glassiness that he knew would eventually well into tears if he didn't stop her.

"Hey…"

He reached out a hand, unfurling hers from where they were wrapped around her thighs.

"I just...I know mom and dad will be okay. But what about _you_? You're going to be all alone out there and I…"

"I'm gonna be just fine, Rissa, I promise you."

He pulled her into a hug, and she instantly burrowed her head to his chest, something else he would miss about home.

"But I know you, Jim. You're running away from this problem, but it's just going to eat at you until it's withered you away, and I can't help you if you're in Connecticut."

He held onto her tighter, a pang of guilt twinging in his gut as he realized that his little sister shouldn't be holding this burden of protector; that was his job. The t-shirt he'd worn to the hospital the day she was born said just so.

"I'm gonna be okay. Not right away, but I will be. I promise."

Her smile was full of sadness as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand, not quite in time for their parents to enter the room.

"What's going on in here?"

"Mom, dad? I think we need to have a little talk."

Monday morning found him too quickly. He had spent the weekend alternating between spending as much time with his family as possible and throwing all of his worldly possessions into cardboard boxes. The current pile on the curb was larger than the one the morning after he and Mark had thrown their "First night in the new place rager," which was saying something. With this new life he was about to lead, he mimicked the purging of everything Scranton with the heaping pile of trash bags ready for the weekly pickup.

Holey jeans and ratty t-shirts, chargers to his first cell phone, a broken boombox.

A deflated basketball, a broken toaster, and Pam.

 _Pam_.

No.

He was leaving her here, just like he was letting Mark keep the Xbox. Things that had at once roped all of his attention and kept him up for nights on end. He was leaving them behind.

Leaving _her_ behind.

Stamford was a clean slate, a place where nobody knew him save for the boss he'd met only once before. No one knew his story; no one would toss him glances of sadness as he pined for a woman already spoken for. He could bury himself in his work, focus on him _self_ for once, and forget about her.

But as he tossed items haphazardly into a box appropriately labeled **JUNK** , his fingers traced the edges of the tree she'd drawn all those weeks ago. The plastic frame did little to dull the lines that had begun as abstract wildness that hadn't seemed to make sense at first, but then had suddenly clicked together into a beautiful image that seemed to appear out of thin air.

Well, he wasn't leaving _all_ of her behind. The frame ended up on top of the **JUNK** box, and shoved into the last remaining place in the U-Haul. He saw Larisa's ponytail bob at the base of the window, heard her Converse as they climbed to his height.

"Call me when you get there, okay?"

He reached his hand out to pat her forearm, offering her the last shred of a smile he could muster.

"Absolutely."

He still had one stop before he hit the road, and he wanted to make it in and out as quickly as possible.

The sun had yet to rise fully over the Scranton Business Park, but Michael was known to make the occasional early appearance. Still, he'd much rather have the run in with his hyperactive boss than to see Pam again.

He found the office as empty as it had been upon his last visit. The lighting was incredibly eerie, what with the sun peeking in through the blinds but the security lights still glowing. The entire bullpen was an odd orangey color that he'd never been around early enough to appreciate. He filled his lungs fully and let out all the air before making one last trip around.

His fingers danced on the reception desk, cold to the touch but burning in his heart. Just how many jellybeans _had_ he ingested over the past three years? How many times had his eyes tipped over this edge to communicate in a secret code known to only one other? He sat in his chair, glancing in that direction just one more time, savoring the thought of her safely five feet away, a glance or a nod or an air-five available to him on command. Now, it would all be gone.

He let his body absorb the area that edged his desk, where she had pressed herself to him, clinging and clawing and melding their bodies together if only for a brief moment. And in one flick of her eyes, gone.

Finally, he grabbed the first empty paper box he could find and dusted every personal item carelessly inside. The photos, the office supplies, the year old candy bar that would probably find a new home at the bottom of his desk in Stamford. He paused as his fingers wound around that silly paper chain medal. She had been so happy that day. And it had been all thanks to him. It wouldn't hurt him to take it with, right? It wasn't just about her, he could convince himself. It was an office event, a reminder of the good times he'd had at the Scranton branch.

But then, why was he leaving?

Whatever. It was already in the box. And it was 7:30. Michael would be here soon. He wasn't ready for _that_ goodbye.

He glanced around the bullpen one last time, patting the top of reception with his fist twice before pulling his Phillies cap over his eyes and exiting Dunder Mifflin Scranton for the last time.

* * *

She'd spent most of the weekend moving about in a robotic haze, performing only essential tasks, and doing so mechanically and with little to no emotion. Roy hadn't really commented, but had given her a few strange looks, especially when she had tried put the peanut butter in the fridge. The only words she truly processed were those on repeat in her head.

 _I'm in love with you._

 _I just needed you to know._

 _You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that._

 _You're really gonna marry him?_

On more than one occasion, she found her fingertips pressed to lips that still tingled from where his mouth had been, tracing down her sides to where his fingers had left their imprint on her skin. Her temples rang hot each time his words replayed themselves, _I'm in love with you, I'm in love with you, I'm in love with you._

She had _wanted_ this, _longed_ for him to speak the words, to finally put tangible meaning to their unspoken tension. But when he finally answered her prayers, she'd chickened out, shoved him to the side, wiped away as if he were a bug on her windshield. The pain in his eyes was unlike any emotion she'd ever seen etched into a human face before. The clarity in his charcoal disks was so intense that she'd had to back up a step. The intensity seared into her; if her core temperature hadn't skyrocketed from his words, his eyes would putting them to shame. His stare was icy but soft around the edges, seeming to call out to her, a desperate attempt to make her see.

 _If my words don't get through to you, maybe the pain in my eyes will?_

But she'd brushed that off too.

Didn't he _get it?_

He was too late.

She'd _made_ her choice.

She was marrying Roy.

Roy, the same man who had just chugged milk straight from the carton, let out a huge belch, and watched a helping of white liquid dribble down his chin into a puddle on the floor before mopping it up with his sock.

But she'd _made her choice, damnit!_

Pam Beesly wasn't the most decisive person in the world, but lately, she'd felt this charge of resolve taking the wheel of her life, and once Jim had holed himself up, she'd put her foot down. Now, here he went, turning her world on its axis once again. It was Monday morning at four AM, another night awakened from dreams of tousled hair and firm lips, and another night with sweat sticking to her back as she peeled an uncomfortable arm from around her body, that a strange calm overcame her.

They'd had plenty of _awkward morning afters,_ but Monday morning at work always went by just fine. This one would be dramatically different. But oddly, she felt at peace. She would not shudder away when his angular body stalked past her desk. Her eyes wouldn't dart downward whenever he sought her gaze. She wouldn't find herself ducking to the break room whenever he was around, taking her lunch to the car, hiding out in the bathroom. She'd stand tall, letting those words of admission course through her, showing him that she was no longer afraid, no longer timid. He loved her. He was _in love_ with her. He'd let it all out in the open. Suddenly, she was _alive_.

She was awake.

But Roy was fast asleep in the room right down the hall.

And they were still engaged.

They had a battle ahead, but she was prepared.

Of course, he'd be upset with her. Would he avoid her? Smile as if nothing had happened? Beg at her feet?

They needed to talk.

She needed to explain herself, the fear he'd driven into her heart, the sudden onslaught of it all backing her into a corner.

He would understand.

If he truly loved her, he would understand.

She'd barely embraced Roy all weekend, so he had merely shrugged when she'd turned her cheek to his lips as they parted ways at the doorway to the Scranton Business Park. A fresh coat of glossy pink stained her lips as she sat waiting, alert, on the edge of her less than comfortable desk chair. When nine o'clock rolled around, people were still drifting into the office, and she made no effort to hide the way her eyes peeked around every body that wasn't his. There were no messages to explain his absence, and by nine thirty, she began to worry. It was then that she finally decided to peek over at his desk, having restrained that urge for fear she would plunge back into those memories of Friday night, his hands singing her skin and his lips emphasizing the love that his words had just sung. The bile rose in her throat faster than she could comprehend the bareness of the wood she had not so long ago been pushed up against. Everything that resembled Jim was gone. The mesh cup of pencils, the stack of work he'd leave until he was so bored he couldn't stand it. The photos of him and his brothers, his newborn niece.

The Post-It note drawings she'd given him to cheer him up, each one finding its own special place around his computer monitor, secured with tape, "for extra stickiness," he'd once told her.

The yogurt lid medals from their office Olympiad.

It was all gone.

And suddenly, she couldn't breathe.

She didn't remember knocking over her mug of tea as she all but ran the ten feet from reception to Michael's office. The only words she truly registered were _transfer, last minute, Stamford, Connecticut._ It hadn't crossed her mind to shield the redness in her cheeks, the tears streaming down her face, the shakiness in her breath as she dashed past her coworkers to the parking lot. By the time she finally caught herself, she was standing in that very spot where his words had angered her, challenged her, turned her on her head. She closed her eyes, touching her fingers to her lips, letting the memory wash over her once more before making the decisive spin on her heels and heading straight to Roy's truck. She'd pushed past Phyllis, not even realizing the poor woman had followed her outside, as the tires burned tracks into the the spot where her feet once stood. She'd barely thrown the car in park when she felt the roughness of the wood against her rapping knuckles. A girl with a brown ponytail and a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt opened the door, more so as if she were on her way out than actually there to answer it.

"Oh, uh, sorry. You here for Mark?"

She tried to push past Pam, clearly on a mission to wherever she was attempting to go.

"No. I, uhm… Where's Jim?"

The determined lines in the girl's face softened, her expression snapping from frustrated to inquisitive, and finally to understanding.

"You're her, aren't you?"

She didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to _do_. She picked at her nails, reminding herself why they seldom donned paint.

 _Her?_

God, this was so much worse than she thought.

"Is...is he... _gone?_ "

Her voice cracked, tears welling, though she was fighting hard to stay strong in front of this stranger whose eyes she found a familiarity in. The girl nodded, tentatively at first, but more firm to end.

"He left about an hour ago. I told him I'd wait for the landlord to come pick up his keys so he could get on the road."

The silence hung over them, and Pam's gaze found the faded welcome mat under her Keds, noticing how the color perked up under the tears that dotted its edges.

"Pam?"

Whoever this girl was, she _knew_. Pam met her gaze, confirming that knowledge with the disappointment that this girl shared.

"Did you come here to change his mind?"

There was hope in her words, in the way the edges of her eyes crinkled slightly. Just like his.

"I…"

All of that strength that had surged through her body this morning was gone, tapped out. Words weren't forming, were only swirling around the epicenter of _I'm in love with you_ and _He's gone._

"He didn't even say goodbye."

Before she could really, truly lose it in front of this girl, the one who shared his quirky lips, she was dashing to Roy's truck and pulling out of that driveway for the last time.

In one last desperate attempt, she tried tried his cell. The beeping on the other end told her that it had been disconnected.

He'd changed numbers.

He was cutting her out of his life.

So soon and so sudden.

From _I'm in love with you_ to _You have destroyed me._

He was gone.


	26. Chapter 26

Life beyond Jim Halpert was a peculiar place.

He was gone. Yet the sun still rose in the east, he copier still whirred, Dwight still patrolled the bullpen like a drill sergeant, as if nothing had changed. She wanted to stand on top of her desk and expel all of the air in her lungs, shouting, "Don't you people _get it?!_ " until her ears were the color of cherry tomatoes and her lips were blue. Did no one in this world care that Jim Halpert had vanished without a trace, without so much as a goodbye? Was everyone else simply unaffected by the fact that Connecticut had gained a new resident, six-foot-three-inches of soil now occupied?

Roy had finally begun to notice-not that she'd been encouraging him to do so. He'd been so intrusive, asking questions like, "What's wrong?" and, "Babe, are you okay?" and, "Are you going to eat dinner tonight? I feel like I haven't seen you eat in like, three days." So invasive and prying. How _dare_ he try to console her when it was more than apparent that something was off? He offered her food that had no taste, spoke words that died flatly as soon as they hit the atmosphere. The colors she saw ran together, barren and drab and devoid of life.

It wasn't only at home. She'd become lifeless and cold in so many aspects of her day to day monotony, and in a life that subsisted generally on going to work and coming home, she was slowly making enemies of every person she held close in life. Then again, the one person with whom she held the closest bond was now farther than she cared to admit. She was bitter and abrupt with her coworkers, slamming down phones and snapping at people over questions as simple as, "Hey, Pam, could you make ten copies of this?" By the middle of the second week that people were beginning to make their own copies. It was when Michael grew concerned, diverting from his usual perplexities and bizarre demeanor, that she realized her emotions were being worn on her sleeve. She'd never heard tenderness in his voice like that, when he'd called her into his office, closed the door, and asked her if he could do anything to help. He hadn't asked what was wrong, didn't bring up _his_ name, but it was the reflection in his eyes that told her he knew the truth.

She missed him.

And it was there, at the hands of Michael Scott, that she finally gave in to the bursting of tears that had been threatening for far too long now.

He'd wrapped his arms around her heaving body, rubbing his palms in large circles on her back. It reminded her of the way her father consoled her in childhood, loving in a paternal manner that reassured her she would eventually find a way to overcome this.

When he'd suggested she take the rest of the day, she shook her head frantically, needing only ten minutes in the bathroom to adjust the redness in her cheeks. She'd found a compact deep in the recesses of her purse and gave her complexion an evenness that would be acceptable to the general public. Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she gave herself a good long stare for the first time since he'd gone.

Her eyes were hung in a perpetually downturned fashion, their brightness gone, hidden behind hollow darkness and worry crows feet. Under the facade of drugstore powder, her skin was grey, worn from exhaustion and malnutrition and the constant weight of every sad emotion you could think to name. Her hair fell flat, curls missing their usual spring, a lasting shine of grease tugging at odd ends. It was depressing, really, to honestly take in just how much she'd let herself go. And all for what? Lost love? Because she'd missed her shot, and an entire piece of her soul was now somewhere in another part of the country?

But that, in itself, was the root of the problem.

Instead of taking charge, instead of finally standing up for what she truly wanted out of this life, she'd let it all go, blaming his timing and lack of initiative when she had been the one secretly spurring him on in the first place. She had allowed herself to be stagnant, residing in comfort over desire, and look where it had gotten her. She was a shell of her former self, hanging by threads that could only be pieced back together by her own will and gumption. With her chin held a little bit higher, she returned to her desk, choosing to meet the eyes of the several concerned coworkers who followed her back to reception. Her cheeks tinged pink, but she embraced the embarrassment, pushing past it to hold on to the hope that her fate rested in her hands alone.

Their car ride home had been silent, and she was okay with that. Her head was too busy playing cat and mouse with ideas and memories and what ifs. When the day had begun, she'd been anticipating a dreadful weekend of basketball games and unwanted touches and the desire to bury herself under blankets for seventy-two straight hours. His tentative query about Darryl and basketball tickets, knowing that her parents had planned to make the trip down for dinner and an evening out, was the fuel she didn't know she'd needed.

On any other day, the old Pam would've just given in, shed a tear, and listened to him "promise to make it up" to her.

But today, the new Pam was annoyed.

Apparently, so was Roy.

"I don't see what the big deal is here, Pammy," he began, his expression going cross as he raised his hands in protest. "It's one basketball game. You hate going to sports stuff with me anyway. And I'm sure your parents will understand. It's just one dinner. Hell, we've got the rest of our lives to make it up to them."

As the words spilled from her lips, she surprised even herself.

"It's not just _one basketball game_ , Roy. It's every time you choose something over me."

Her eyes had made the transition from tired and lifeless to alive and on fire, mimicked in the ways that her fists clenched at her sides.

"And it's not like this is the first time! God, I've let you do this to me for almost a decade, haven't I?"

He was certainly dumbfounded, his mouth agape, eyes wide as he tried to follow the aimless pace she had begun.

"Marriage isn't about _making it up to me_. It's about putting me first, taking my feelings into consideration before you do something that you feel the need to back yourself out of a corner for. You've been doing this _so backwards_ , and I've just been letting you. Well, not anymore. I'm done."

"God, what has gotten _into_ you lately? You've been hot and cold all over the place. You on your period or somethin'?"

It was her turn to be dumbfounded, not for lack of understanding, but for the sad realization that she had truly put up with this for as long as she had. That she was actually considering spending the rest of her life with this inconsiderate dolt.

Her chuckle was cynical, starting in her belly and rising out of her throat like the witch from that Wizard of Oz movie that had traumatized her as a child. When her laughter subsided, she offered him a sad smile in response to his perpetual confusion.

"You done now?" he asked, the irony almost spouting another fit of laughter.

"Yeah, yeah I think I am."

Determinedly, she spun on her toes, grabbed the keys to her car, and left without another word. Somewhere along the way, she found herself at a gas station purchasing a grape soda, its contents empty by the time she reached her destination. Eventually, her aimless drive had found her at the edges of Lake Wallenpaupack, the early June air still breezy. It didn't matter, though. A charge of heat radiated through her core, and only grew as she perched her body on a bench, closing her eyes, taking in that night that had haunted her for so long.

She knew it at the time, was so undoubtedly aware that he had wanted to confess his feelings. But she had been scared. Scared that their friendship would change, that she would lose the Jim she had come to know and love and be comfortable with. But for what had she sacrificed all of that? When she'd masked her fear with being cold, she'd lost friendship and hope and the prospect for a life where she was unconditionally loved, and gained a wedding to a man with whom she had grown apart so long ago. It was written in his eyes, the deep forest green an intensity that she'd refused to put a name to until now. He loved her.

Or, rather, he _had_ loved her.

The potential in those words was her new fear. Not fear of change, or moving out of her comfort zone, but the fear that she had potentially lost the greatest love that life had to offer her.

The water lapped at the dock not feet from where she sat, the crashing washing a calm across her body.

She wouldn't let fear dictate her life anymore.

And she didn't let it as she allowed the world to come crumbling at Roy's feet later that night. She stood her ground amidst yelling, tears, and the twice grovelling at her feet. She'd held her head high as picture frames were shattered, begging words clawed at her eardrums, and his tires squealed against the pavement, his anger and frustration burned down the road.

She'd called her mom, promising to come home in the morning. It was late, she was tired, and yes, she'd be okay.

Instead, she found herself curled on the couch, her head cradled against the cushion on the right side. It had been some time since he'd sat here, but in that moment, his presence saturated her, cloaking her in warmth and protectiveness and love and _Jim_.

As she drifted off to sleep, she swore she felt the ghost of his fingers sweeping her curls behind her ears.

* * *

He snapped his phone shut, letting it lay on the armrest of the Lazy Boy recliner. That was easily the tenth text he'd received in the span of the last four days, all of which held the same general message: She'd called off the wedding. But as he tipped his head back and let the bitterness of an east coast IPA drip down his gullet, he chuckled grimly. What did it matter if she wasn't going to tell him herself? After Phyllis' initial phone call early Monday morning, his heart had been all a flutter, his body literally lifting from his seat at the ring of a telephone or the chirp of an email notification. But as hours passed by, the realization sunk in that she was not going to call him. This hadn't changed a thing.

He had moved here for a reason.

Friday nights had taken a stark turn on Connecticut soil, from once being charged with the buzz of anticipation and filling his body with heat upon seeing her smile light up his living room, to a six pack that was downed by nine PM and a small room that never saw the light of day. The routine was simple: Get home from work, chug a beer, exchange work attire for one of the pairs of sweatpants that were piled on his bedroom floor while finishing off a second bottle, turn on the television for background noise, and allow the pain to be somewhat lessened as the alcohol did its numbing duties.

He had only been in Stamford for about a month, but the appearance of his residence screamed otherwise. Essential furniture had been pieced together so that he could properly sleep and lounge in front of the television. Everything else still sat in the boxes stacked in appropriate rooms around the condo that was too big even for him. When he needed clothes, he simply pulled them out of a box. After he did laundry, they found their way to the floor, or the top of a box until he needed them again. He found no use for the dishes that his mother had insisted on purchasing; he ordered takeout most nights, or picked up a bag of chips from the gas station on the corner. It wasn't by any means nutritious, but it quelled the growling in his stomach long enough for him to pass out before it started up again.

When his body, so run down with exhaustion, gave its final plea, he let the last of his empty glass bottles collect in the pile at the foot of his chair and dragged all seventy five inches of himself to the sheetless mattress in the one-windowed bedroom. The sole light from the moon cast a glow on the makeshift nightstand that had been created from an upturned box whose contents were probably still somewhere underneath. Its lone decoration, and only purpose, was to display the black frame housing a drawing of a simple tree. His constant reminder that, while new life could spring from nothing, his would be a constant memory, inked into the permanence that would never sprout newness behind the glass window.

Just as he did every night, he let his fingertips trace the edges of the frame, unaffected as the box caved and swelled under his touch. He tossed his phone to the floor, not bothering to sync it to the charging cord under his mattress. Tomorrow was Saturday. He didn't need an alarm.

With little effort, the week's debilitation snapped his eyes shut as they collided with the flat cotton of the pillow, his eyelids a never ending screen reel of auburn curls and lavender silk.


	27. Chapter 27

"Wow, you got totally taken for a ride, Beesly! Most apartments these days have like, three."

"Three kitchens?"

"How are you gonna cook every meal of the day in one kitchen?"

She giggled at his bantering, thinking back to the realtor who had sold her the new one bedroom apartment that she was still in the process of setting up, and wondered if there had been a three-kitchen option she'd missed out on.

She had put quite a bit of effort into making sure this apartment was all her own, all remnants from the past, from her life with Roy, not at all apparent. Her art was finally on the walls, for one. Though to the outsider it may have just been frames nailed into plaster, in her eyes, the walls were seemingly made of canvas, taking on a life of their own in a mixture of delicate and wild brush strokes. Her living room was more tame, muted tans with accents of some of her brighter work. That was the Pam that she wanted to know and love these days, wanted on display for all to see. The Pam that chose happiness, the Pam that took initiative, the Pam that loved herself and fulfilled herself.

Because that's what it had meant.

Losing Jim had encouraged her to find herself.

It made all the more impact that she was losing something she had only just realized she'd had.

He loved her, _truly loved her_ , with all of his heart and soul, and it took his absolute departure from her life to see what he had been trying to show her all along.

She had been timid, afraid, and so dependent on staying comfortable in this life that life's greatest gift had vanished on her without a trace.

But he was gone, and she surely couldn't spend any more time wallowing in her own self pity.

And after the initial shock of ending things with Roy, of sobbing in her mother's arms over having to pick up the pieces and start from scratch, she had come to a stunning realization while staring at the ceiling in her childhood bed: She was a blank canvas now, with the potential to become whatever kind of art she wanted to be. She could be muted greys and tans, staying stagnant in her job at reception, her predictable lunches of a salad and mixed berry yogurt, the anticipated rotation of cardigan and sweater combinations cloaking her like camouflage. She could add splashes of color here or there, putting something exciting into the mix of monotony; she could take an art class, style her hair with a straightener, go on blind dates with men she wouldn't call in the morning. The lines could become more bold and outlandish; she could take a trip, get out of Scranton for a while, see the Pacific Ocean.

Just as it had always been, the excitement and possibilities that a new canvas had to offer were limitless. But at the same time, she was still Pam. Still safe, calculating, reserved. Spontaneity was the opposite to her baby stepped approach to life. She wanted, longed to have the courage to make big leaps and grand gestures, but right now, she was still in that stage of getting her feet wet, realizing that the canvas before her could be touched by her brush alone. She had time to figure it out, to decide where the big steps could fit into her puzzle. She could be like Jim one day, go to Australia by herself on a whim. For now, she was proud of the decision she'd made to sign up for art classes twice a week at the community college. It wasn't grand by any means. But it was something outside the box, outside of _her_ box of normalcy.

She was painting, sketching, drawing all of her emotions in her own spare time, quickly investing in a drop cloth for the carpet which she'd already had to ShopVac bright blue paint from. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, she was learning form, technique, and control, ways to bring her art to the next level. She was wearing outfits to work that were brighter, bolder. Sometimes she experimented with makeup, adding a fun eye shadow or a more daring lipstick, just for fun. She took walks in the park, made dinners for herself from recipes she found online instead of drab microwavable dinners. Instead of passing out in front of the television, she used the library card that hadn't been touched since the last time she filled out a resume, and found herself lost in the words of authors that would take her different worlds. It wasn't Australia by any means, but it was a start. She was doing life on her own terms, creating her own happiness.

But as Ryan and Dwight returned from their sales call, and Jim mistook her goodbye, and that gap between them became evermore apparent, she glanced down at her freshly painted nails-bright pink this week-and was reminded of the Fancy New Beesly that Jim was so proud of. _She_ held the reigns, _she_ was in control of her own destiny. And as the first of her truly bold life steps, Fancy New Beesly's car headed away from her fancy new apartment tonight.

* * *

Stamford wasn't actually all that bad, he'd decided.

Granted, the pace was assuredly different; people actually accomplished sales related tasks for most of the work day. The few pranks he'd attempted backfired almost immediately, so he'd toned it down quite a bit. But maybe this was good for him, focusing on his job, anyway. He was in a new place, starting over, and in a position of authority for the first time in his life. It was a chance to make a new image for himself, one that wasn't always desperate and clinging and reaching.

One without her.

One in which he was proud of the work he accomplished, spent his days making the world a more paper-filled place until his resume was built enough to one day branch out to something more. Maybe it would take him somewhere else in this world, to a place where they weren't in the same time zone, a car ride that would take less time than a full length basketball broadcast. The temptation had been real for those first few weeks to pick up and run straight back to her, to grovel and beg and fall back into that old life. But once he'd eventually settled into a groove, he was able to easily convince himself against turning onto that westward highway. He was building a life here, and he had to honor that.

And then there was Karen.

It wasn't that he'd all of a sudden developed a new infatuation, taken his heart from one to another. No. His heart was undoubtedly still in Scranton. What Karen offered him was hope. The hope that he not only _could_ come back from this, but that he _would_. She offered him fun in the workplace, his proverbial light in the darkness of selling paper for a living. She reminded him that life did not end where love died, but that newness was always welcome and waiting for the chance to begin. He didn't have to live this life of covering the windows in his apartment in tinfoil and disappearing behind headphones that blared a playlist entitled _Her_. His soul did not have to be caged to desperation and longing and utter heartbreak. He could grow himself from this experience, come out stronger, and learn to be human again.

They didn't talk much outside the workplace. The occasional text was exchanged, first beginning when she'd had to work late and needed to reach him at home, then drifting into casual chatter about some weird story she'd seen on the news or his thoughts on the Phillies starting lineup. It never ventured into anything more than offhand comments, but the messages eventually increased, carrying on more like a conversation, as if they were sitting on the couch together. Like friends.

He had a new friend.

He grinned at this thought, this revelation that new friendships could be formed, that new life could be attained. Nevermind that she royally kicked his ass in Call of Duty. It was a welcomed challenge, an edge of friendly competition that he happily received. They'd gone on an adventure one day, spending nearly all of his available work time hunting down a bag of chips. But he didn't mind. He was allowed to slack every once in a while. Besides, it reminded him that his life didn't always have to be so stringent and bland; the element of fun was always welcome.

But at the same time, as her happy munching spun with the scent of salt and vinegar, his mind drifted to a different time, one where curls and cardigans would be accompanying him in all of his office adventures. His heart was heavy, but for only a moment, until he noticed a flaky yellow disk land with a soft _thud_ on his desk, spreading crumbs across the spreadsheet he'd been ignoring all afternoon. While the congestion still clouded his chest, it resembled the after effects instead of the full rainstorm: still present, but with hope on the horizon.

His heart wasn't fixed by any means, but it was distracted enough and mending in a way that brought an immediate lump to his throat and hotness to his cheeks when she had answered his phone call that evening. Consciously or not, he had dawdled that afternoon, waiting to make that phone call until typical business hours were wrapped up. Hearing her voice was like running poison through his veins, but the kind that your body craves, and that he knew he needed to avoid for his own sanity. That plan had clearly backfired.

There was something new in her tone. An attitude, maybe? It wasn't soft and reserved, but she came off as mildly annoyed when her typical, "Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam," was curt and without introduction. Then again, he remembered, it _was_ after hours, and she was still seemingly chained to her desk. For a fleeting moment, he allowed his mind to wander to the all too familiar patterns of being concerned for her, wondering why she was still there so late on a Thursday evening, and his words quickly followed suit.

"I had to work late. Jan's making me keep a log of everything Michael does all day."

His hesitation stemmed from fear more than anything, not knowing if she would fall so easily back into the role of their banter that she once held so dear. But she had, and through shaky and semi-awkward laughter, they were both chuckling, and the weight on his shoulders suppressed a little. It was when her next question breathed across telephone lines that the weight was back, reminding him of all that he had lost.

"What time is it there?"

"What time is it here? Um, we're in the same time zone."

"Ah, yeah, right."

"How far away did you think we were?"

"I don't know. It felt far."

He hadn't expected her to be so blunt, so honest, so _in his head_ with her answer.

It _had_ felt far, while at the same time, some days it wasn't far enough. Though they were only connected by a wire, he sensed her in the silence that followed, as if she was standing next to him instead of one hundred and fifty miles away. They were connected, somehow still, through all of this mess, and though it brought a momentary glistening to his eye, he chose to see through his new lens of hope rather than the fear that threatened.

From that moment forward, it was _so_ easy.

They were flowing, clicking again as if she hadn't shattered his heart, as if he hadn't left without cause, as if they weren't a state apart. Their bond knew no bounds, and just like that, every wall he'd put up over those few summer months came crashing down in a wave of everything that his heart longed to hold onto for just a minute longer. Her giggle, the warmth in her voice, the way she so seamlessly fit into every bit that he threw her way. He could picture her now, probably leaned forward in the chair that he knew hurt her back, her hands dancing through the stiff air as she animatedly recounted stories. Most importantly, he could see her smile, and the reassurance that he could still bring color to her cheeks only urged his own state of relaxation.

But then she was distant, saying goodbye out of nowhere, and though he heard the hesitation in her voice as they both skirted around ending the call, he knew he had to do this for his own good. As he carefully placed the phone back in the receiver, he didn't dive straight into what would happen next, what this meant, what would come after, but preserved the memory instead, choosing rather to reside in happiness.

As the warm breeze met him in the parking lot, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The initial heat surging within stemmed from the hope that it would be her. But seeing Karen's name on the screen, though disappointing at first, reminded him that _this_ was what came after. He had friends. He had a life here. He was making the best of it all.

It was an impulse, really, to invite her over. The Phillies were playing Baltimore tonight, and there was no reason they couldn't watch the game together. Of course, there was the current dilapidated state of his apartment, but it wasn't something twenty minutes of reorganizing couldn't fix. He had a real couch, after all-it just needed to be situated in front of the TV where his Lazy Boy was currently fixated. Boxes were stashed in his bedroom-there would be no reason to show her in there anyway. Maybe tomorrow he'd even start unpacking them.

Technically, she was his first visitor, aside from Larisa's initial visit that first weekend to help him unpack the boxes that were still cluttered with odds and ends. They shared awkward laughter at just how much the condo screamed "bachelor pad" but fell into easy leisure once they had the sounds of a cracking bat to fill the silences. They each had a beer or two, no more than expected for two friends hanging out. But it was towards the eighth inning that he felt her body grow closer. She had laughed at some wise crack of his, and in throwing herself forward, she somehow repositioned her body to be half a cushion closer. He didn't say anything, and she didn't make an effort to change. When the game ended, they turned to face one another, and he recognized that look in her eye, dark pupils beneath half lids. His body grew tense as she leaned closer, lips already parted.

"Karen," he whispered, her lips mere centimeters from his own. "I can't. We...we shouldn't."

She curled her lips inward, forming a grim smile as her eyes pinched shut, her body slumping in defeat.

"It's just...I'm kind of still...getting over someone. I wouldn't want to put you in that position."

He watched her, the face of his new friend who had just tried to kiss him. She had opened her eyes again, and he could see her actively trying to quell the flood of embarrassment. She nodded curtly, acknowledging her understanding.

"And, hey, technically, I am your boss. Wouldn't wanna look like we're playing favorites or something."

His lips were curled upwards and he relaxed when hers did too. He had a new friend that he didn't want to lose. And he was trying out this new thing where he was upfront and honest to begin with. Hopefully this was a good start.

"Did you really just pull the boss card on me, Jim?" Her tone was riddled with sarcasm and her expression was fighting a smile, which he greatly returned.

"C'mon. I'll walk you out."

He hugged her goodbye, noticing how her trim body allowed him to feel her bones against his solid frame. It wasn't bad or weird. It was definitely different, but he didn't mind. Different was good. Different was moving him to a better place.

He readjusted the locks on his front door, disposed of their empty beer bottles, and eyed the seemingly barren condo. He had a lot of work to do this weekend. As he tried to get a bit of a head start, typing up the garbage in the kitchen, he heard a soft knock at the door.

Karen had probably forgotten her sweater or something.

He double checked the couch, hoping to catch her before needing to re-invite her in for a prolonged search and inevitable conversation when all he really wanted to do was go to bed, but he found nothing.

When he opened the door, the breath was quite literally stolen from his lungs.

"Hey, stranger. I didn't wake you up, did I?


	28. Chapter 28

He was seeing things. That had to be it. But blinking his eyes in rapid succession did nothing to diminish the sight of her, so small, on his front porch.

He was drunk. For _sure_ he was still drunk. But upon remembering the _one and a half beers_ that he and Karen had nursed over the course of a three hour baseball game, he knew that couldn't be the case.

He had fallen asleep on the couch after Karen left, and his subconscious was cruelly trying to backpedal all of the forward progress he'd made on letting her go. But there was no way that any dream of his had ever been filled with her scent, had ever brought a cool breeze to his cheeks. His dreams weren't vivid enough to picture the individual beads of sweat gathered at the crown of her forehead, or the way he could see each individual piece of hair that had mussed its way out of place.

His fingers itched to reach out, to smooth her curls back into place, to assure himself that she was really, truly standing in front of him. But the sight of her, standing on his porch in the early autumn coolness, that same woman whose image he'd been pushing from his thoughts for the entire time it took for the leaves to bud, bloom, and start changing colors again, had him frozen to the spot. Hearing her voice across telephone lines earlier that evening had him stumbling over words and forgetting how to breathe, but he'd had the mask of an entire state line to cover for that. Now, standing the same distance from her that their old desk space had covered, he was curious as to how his body hadn't yet melted into the floor.

It must have been quite the sight: he was standing with his door wide open, sockless feet ending his jean and t-shirt ensemble, which was topped by hair that had been pulled messy in frustration of Kurt Benson giving up 4 runs on his start and a perfect "O" in the center of his face where his lips had been pursed shut just moments ago. The silence lasted literal minutes, with her eyes flicking from his toes to his nose to his eyes and back, while his eyes could do nothing but stare, glued to her own dark irises until they were both startled by the wind that picked up and all but pushed her forward.

He could feel her body's presence now, no longer five feet away and outside, but the energy washing over him like a tidal wave, forcing his eyes closed and pushing his own weight even more so against the frame of the door. When his eyes slowly peeled themselves open, both fearful and hopeful that she would be gone, the intensity in her eyes was the only thing that kept him upright.

"Uhm…"

"Hey."

Words tumbled together, whispers barely distinguishable from the air that was making her curls dance around her pale face.

"You wanna-"

"Can I-"

Worlessly, he stepped aside, and her propinquity finally surrounded him, shifting the air in his otherwise stiff condo to one that was almost overwhelmingly suffocating. This right here, this frightened looking woman, was the source of his undoing, the reason he spent the first month of his residence here with eyes dried and cracking and his head in the toilet. She had taken the light in his life and rendered it useless, not just burning out the lightbulb, but shattering it underfoot and refusing to buy a new one. And yet somehow, the suffocation was freeing, constraining him in a way that made him remember what it was like to want someone so much that it hurt. It reminded him just how much his body ached to hold her, to love her, to never let her go. _That_ was the way it should be when you loved someone, the way your entire body aches just to be near them. It was ironic and sad and he felt his pride shatter a little, but as he found her eyes, he was home. It didn't matter how much time and effort he'd put into pushing her away, burying her under alcohol and sales calls and bags of potato chips. One look in her eyes, and that entire wall had come barreling down.

"So, uhm, not that it isn't nice to see you, but uhm...what are you doing here?"

His words were tickled with a chuckle, lips turning upward in an attempt to remind himself that mere hours ago, they were back to being themselves, reminding himself that it was possible to still be _them_. He hoped to take the fear from her eyes, the timidness in the way she clutched her purse, with his tone, but still she stood stark and rigid and fragile, as if she'd shatter into a million pieces if he reached out and touched her. Her eyes, bulging, feverous disks, were the only part of her body that displayed any sense of confident, contrasting emotion. Had he not submitted to eye contact, he would've assumed she was on the verge of tears, or a breakdown, or in need of immediate consoling. But the way her eyes burned into his skull, in the same way they had back in May, he knew he was in trouble.

In words that spoke decibel crawling volumes in his almost vacant entryway, she stated simply, "I wasn't done talking to you."

"Uhm…?" He was caught truly off guard, his eyes and brows twinning in confusion. He palmed the back of his head as she interrupted his immediate strain of overthinking.

"When you called the office tonight. We hung up, but I wasn't done talking to you. Ryan came back, and I was saying goodbye to him, but you thought I was talking to you and I...I didn't want to be done."

Her voice had cracked on the last word. Now, she was shaking. He could see it in the way her purse was beginning to vibrate, her knees knocked together, her bottom lip clenched between her teeth. No sooner were pools of tears sliding down her cheeks, were her lips contorting in the beginnings of a full on sob, than he was striding twice to close the gap between them and gathering her against his chest.

Her entire body convulsed against his, quivering beneath his arms despite the grip that he had fastened. She had all but melted into his touch, her arms wrapped around his chest, clutching the fabric of his back in her fists as if her life depended on it. The wetter the front of his shirt became, the tighter he held her. One arm secured her firmly to his body, holding her upright, urging her to let him be her frame, while the other weaved its way into her hair, cradling her gently to his chest as he murmured reassurances into her ears. As her body continued to crumple, and he felt his own legs giving way underneath his weight, he lowered his grip, supporting her underneath her legs to cradle her against his chest as he carried her to the couch.

He didn't bother flicking off the lights in the entryway, or giving the lamp in the living room attention. His sole focus was Pam, her throat still clogged with tears, eyes still clenched shut, her face still turned inward towards his body. Her fingers had found their way to the front, making identical grasps against the Phillies logo that was sodden with her tears.

Through his whispers, he urged her to breathe. In his touch, the way he held her and passed his fingers soothing along the skin of her arm, in circles across her back, he reassured her often that was was here, surrounding her, not going anywhere.

It never crossed his mind that Pam was literally sitting in his lap, clinging to him. His body didn't register the way she wiggled across his thighs with every jerk that accompanied her cries. It wasn't his business that her forehead brushed against his chin time and time again. His only concern was putting an end to this pain, to restoring the joy that he so often paired with those cheeks now brimming with tears.

He paid no attention to the minutes that ticked by showing no end to her inconsolable tears. Finally, under his careful _Shhhhh's_ and whispered _It's okay, Beesly; I've got you's_ , he felt her body begin to weaken, exhaustion winning the battle as she ran out of steam. They were still for quite some time, breathing and the occasional hiccup poking the silent cocoon that they had nestled their way into. He felt her head rustle from where she had wedged it under his chin, notice a chill as she slid her arm away from his grasp to wipe her nose on the sleeve of her sweater.

Without lifting her head, without meeting his gaze, she simply dropped her arms back to where he could cradle her before she spoke.

"God, this is so embarrassing."

In the stilled silence, he knew she had more to say, that in the way her breathing was quickening, she was thinking up the way to form sentences. So, he let her be, running his fingers softly along her bicep in a silent message, tattooing the words _Take all the time you need_ to her skin with his fingers.

"I wanted to come here tonight and tell you how much I missed you, and how glad I was that I answered that phone tonight, and the second I see your face, I lose it."

Her voice catches again at the end of her sentence, partially in ironic laughter, and he squeezes her body tighter to him, if at all possible, as he whispers against her hair.

"Hey, hey now. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. It's okay, Pam."

Letting his nose bury itself in her curls for one more lingering second, he inhales, pulling back so that he can truly see her.

Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen. Her complexion greys in comparison to the typical glow he's used to marvelling at. Snot stains gather atop her lip, matching the tears streaks painted in lines down her cheeks.

And yet, in her state of vulnerability, her body literally shuddering in his arms, she is still so beautiful.

Her eyes, so wide and so sad, peered up, searching the forest green that belonged to him, that wanted to shout _I'm sorry_ and _I love you_ and _Please, please stop hurting_.

He let his fingers caress the curls at the side of her face, offering her a smile that said half of what he truly wanted to let tumble over his lips.

As her eyes dropped to her lap, a sigh heaving through her torso, he was reminded of their phone call earlier, of the ease in which they had found each other again. He couldn't let her go again, not as easily as he'd let the phone click into the receiver. He pulled her against him once more, his hand shifting to hold her head to his chest, where it belonged, lips brushing against her ears s he breathed words of promise to her.

"Hey, listen. If I know anything about the drive from Scranton to Stamford, you have to be exhausted right now. Why don't we both get some sleep, okay?"

Her head shifted up and down, edging his t-shirt slightly up his torso. But she didn't move, other than to cling to his chest more, to adjust her legs, to bury herself deeper within him than the thought possible. So they stayed, nestled together on the couch, until some time later when he felt her grip go lax and her head get heavier. He peered around her mass of curls, finding closed eyes and full lips. She looked like a child, cradled against him so snugly. When he was sure she was asleep, he lifted her effortlessly to his bedroom, pausing to replace her uncomfortable work attire with a pair of his old pajamas. He kept his eyes to her hands, her eyes, her toes; she barely registered his movements, but unconsciously followed his fingertips as they gingerly replaced stiff fabric with soft cotton that had been well worn.

It took everything in his power to pick his legs up and move his body to the couch that he knew was too small for his lanky body. He'd left Mark with the sectional, after all. But as he brushed the curls from her face, letting them splay across his pillow, he settled for a kiss on her forehead before shutting the door behind him.

* * *

She awoke with his scent in her nose, wrapped around her like a sheet, cradling her head like a pillow. Light wafted in through the curtainless window, and as her eyes blinked rapidly, adjusting to the forcefulness of the sun, she took her time in acknowledging how her night had transpired.

She had not passed through his doorway deliberately, stood her ground, and told him every feeling she'd been having since his first day at Dunder Mifflin. No. Instead, she had sobbed in his arms, fallen asleep in his lap, and somehow ended up asleep in his bed, wrapped from head to toe in his clothing. Sitting up in his soft, clean sheets, she pulled the collar of his large Eagles t-shirt up over her nose, dually to hide from the embarrassment that was freshly washing over her, and to bury herself in _him_.

When she'd spent time in his old bedroom, it hadn't been hard to do. Posters, knick-knacks, and framed photos oozed _Jim_. It wasn't just the clothes thrown haphazardly on his desk chair and the piles of paperwork that were neatly cluttered on his desktop, but the sense that he'd left his imprint on that room in his shared townhome. But here, in Stamford, Connecticut, with walls whose whiteness resembled a psychiatric ward, and boxes who acted as a skeletal frame for all that remained of him stacked around her, the only Jim she could find was inside of this t-shirt. As her eyes wandered, taking little time to absorb the lifeless environment, she came to the disparaging realization that this was all her fault. _She_ had made him this way. Had forced him into a life that wasn't motivated enough to put his pants in a dresser drawer.

She was too tired to cry more, too dehydrated to allow her body to do more than stick her head in his kitchen sink. As if he had read her mind before the thoughts had even transpired, her gaze fell upon the glass of water balanced carefully on his makeshift box table. A note floated freely next to it, his familiar scratching lines causing her pulse to quicken.

 _ **Beesly-**_

 _ **I had to run into work today, at least until lunch. Trust me, I wanted to be there when you woke up, but I also wanted you to get your sleep. Hopefully you can see the sentiment in that.**_

 _ **I already called Toby to let him know you wouldn't be in, so don't freak out. There's waffles in the freezer and a fresh toothbrush in the bathroom. I have cable and internet, so hopefully you don't get too bored.**_

 _ **I left my cell and work numbers, too, in case you need anything, like to know where the extra towels are, or to have me rush home and fend off a three-headed monster. I promise I'll be back as soon as I can.**_

 _ **See you soon**_

 _ **-Jim**_

 _ **Prison Cell # (Work): (203) 555-8024 x6002**_

 _ **Cell: (570) 555-1872**_

 _ **Monster Hunters, Inc. Hotline: 1-800-WE-HUNT-U x911**_

Running her hands over the fresh lines of ink, she smiled a genuine smile for the first time since she'd set foot in his condo, unwarranted by awkwardness or embarrassment. She gathered the glass of water in one hand and held up his large pajama pants in the other. Upon setting her feet on the ground, she realized that, somewhere along the way, he'd managed to put a pair of gigantic socks over her size 7 feet.

 _Oh, Jim._

He truly did think of everything.

She found two different clothing options neatly folded at the foot of his bed, alongside her work attire from the previous night, that he had _washed?_ Curiously, she ran her hands softly over the two different basketball short and t-shirt combinations. She'd guessed correctly that these were older, from his younger days as maybe a high school or college student. The material was worn, well used, with Nike logos that had faded into near oblivion, the symbols only still present because the sun had worn the sticker's imprint into the cloth. These clothes would fit her better, wouldn't take so much effort to hold up. Removing the big-and-tall sized t-shirt, she folded it neatly next to the other piles, mimicking her actions with his green plaid pajama pants. As she let his blue and white basketball shorts dangle a little less loosely from her hips, she felt her breath hitch in her throat as her fingers landed upon the stickers that were still clinging to the back of the t-shirt he'd laid beneath it. For the first time, she knew what it felt like to wear the name _HALPERT_ across her back. While it still ran to the tops of her knees, she found a comforting warmth swimming in his clothes.

True to his word, she found a box of waffles in the freezer, a toaster, plate and utensils already freshly laid out for her. While she munched on her breakfast, she let her eyes wander, taking in the rest of his condo that seemed to reflect the dreary, hospital-esq ambience that she had awoken in. A chill passed between each tip of her spine, sending a shudder through her body that the warmth of the waffles couldn't overcome. She washed and dried the plate, letting it echo in the cabinet that was otherwise barren, before letting her feet that were lost in socks five sizes too big carry her body past every stark white wall in his new home.

She'd become at least partially familiar with his living room the night before, but in the morning light, she noticed the fresh scrape marks across the carpet that led from indentations, those lines telling a story of newly moved furniture. She could picture it now, his lanky body perched on the recliner that had been pushed hastily to the side, eyes glued to the television night after night. Gulping down the fresh whimper in her throat, she continued on, noting the boxes that he had piled neatly in the corner that still held _him_. She imagined his lava lamp, stacks of books, that French cyclist poster, and his boombox, all going months without seeing the sun. Her fingers itched to unfold the cardboard flaps, to unearth him, spread his true self around this depressing excuse for a living environment, but she also knew that it wasn't her place to do so.

Instead, she continued her silent traverse, taking note of the near full bottle of detergent that stood alone in his laundry room, no fabric softener in sight. His fridge was barren, save for the bottle of maple syrup and the remains of a six-pack. True to his word, there was a fresh toothbrush laid next to a tube of toothpaste on the edge of the sink, but aside from essential soaps and a stick of deodorant, it was as if she were in a hotel waiting for its guest to arrive. It was so odd, and yet so representative of the shell of a man who she knew inhabited this space. She needed to leave, if just to catch a breath of fresh air and remind herself that this was _not_ who he was, that her Jim was buried somewhere in those boxes, and that her mission today was to put those pieces back together.

She returned to the bedroom, reaching to the floor to find the heels he had peeled off of her the night before, and removed her freshly charged cell phone from where it was anchored to the wall. It wasn't until she had perched on the edge of the bed to add heels and her cardigan to her already strange ensemble that she noticed it.

There, perched on the makeshift nightstand, was the only decoration he'd bothered to unbox.

It was her tree. That stupid little tree she'd drawn all those nights ago. That she'd signed. That he had taken home, and apparently framed. Her fingertips brushed across the frame, memories of all those nights spent together on couches, sharing snacks and hopes and dreams and laughs, that rejected the tears. Setting it back down on its perch, she found her purse, a spare set of his house keys, and headed out the door.

Luckily, the Stamford Target wasn't too busy at 10 AM on a Friday, so the stares she received went mostly unnoticed as she tried on a pair of black workout pants and store brand tennis shoes. She'd pulled the tags off, keeping the outfit on for the drive back to Jim's, grateful that she still had the MapQuest directions in her front seat. She was concerned as she placed the key in his front door to an already unlocked house, but the sight that greeted her upon kicking her shoes off made her chest simultaneously soar and tighten.

He was hurrying from the bedroom to the bathroom, her name reverberating through empty rooms and off walls who had nothing to stifle his concerned yells. She saw his messenger bag tossed to one side, jacket in a heap on the floor, shoes still probably on his feet. As he rounded the hall back into the entryway, a wave of relief washed over him, the redness in his face disappearing as his eyes found her.

"Hi." Her lips were curled into a small smile, her purse still slung onto her shoulder.

"I...I thought you'd left."

"Uh, no. I mean, technically I _did_ leave. I never listened to my mother about always having a change of clothes in your car, and you are definitely not a size four." She tugged at her new pants, grinning in the hopes that he would stop looking so on edge. When his lips curled up, she set her purse down on the floor and propelled herself across the room and into his arms.

"I can't believe you're here," finally escaped his lips, brushing against her hair, after moments of an embrace that was brought tranquility to a soul that had otherwise been wound like a top since he awoke at four-thirty that morning.

"Me too," she mumbled into his chest, gripping him tighter.

Finally, he pulled back, their position mimicking one he thought he had suppressed, thought he'd effectively kicked out of his subconscious. Her hands were cradled in his, arms lingering in the empty space between one another. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't think about kissing her, hadn't noticed her eyes flicker to his lips, but she didn't need to be assaulted by physicality. Squeezing her hands, he nodded into the kitchen, letting her keep her grip on his hand as they found their bodies molded into opposite sides of the couch she had cried herself to sleep on.

The awkward aire was palpable, and he wiped his sweaty palms over his work slacks several times, averting his eyes to the white walls of the room before finding something, _anything_ , to break the silence.

"So, uh, you didn't like my pants then, I take it?"

He saw the flicker of a grin, the hint of a spark in her eye.

"Oh, it wasn't the pants I didn't like. It was more the socks. I was constantly tripping over them. Had to do something about that. These were just on sale."

She pulled at the stretchy cotton once again, watching his grin twist into that sideways smirk that drew at the bottom of her gut.

"I've heard that Target can have that effect on women. You go in for one thing, and get trapped by everything else."

"Exactly. I like to call it Target Syndrome."

They were both proud of their ruse, not breaking character to giggle until he couldn't find words in his congested brain to keep going. As his eyes roamed the pants she'd been tugging at, fresh socks that didn't fall off clinging to impossibly tiny feet, he noticed the burgundy that still engulfed her torso.

She'd found herself a new outfit, but had chosen to remain in his t-shirt.

His smile, this time, was not so much motivated by her words, and he forced himself to quickly change the subject before he got up and did an Irish jig around the place.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, how _did_ you find this place?"

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, the alarm wavering as he continued his bout of questioning.

"Have you been going up and down the blocks of every neighborhood in Stamford knocking on doors? Because if that's the case, then I'm surprised you made it this long with those heels, Beesly."

Her lips hinted at the smallest of smiles, so he continued.

"Did you hire a private investigator to snuff me out? 'Cause honestly, Pam, I thought I'd hidden myself pretty well over here."

Eyebrows rising, eyes widening.

"Oh, god, don't tell me you got Michael involved. See, I'm okay with _you_ knocking on my door at ten o'clock on a Thursday night, but _Michael_? God, I'd never hear the end of that."

Finally, her smile was tugging up towards her ears, teeth finally making an appearance under pink-cheeked embarrassment.

"Uhm, I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to be mad."

"It's Michael, isn't it? God, I'm gonna have to go out and get new locks tomorrow."

He didn't give a damn about how she found him. What mattered was that she _had_. And that her demeanor had flipped on a dime from where she had been last night.

"I uhm, I kind of used my power of reception to look you up in the company directory."

Her eyes had been evasive, focusing on the fingers in her lap, the edge of the couch, the floor, before trailing up to his. With one eye pinched shut, and her lips twisted slightly in a smile of apologies, he couldn't shake the word _adorable_ from his mind.

"Wow. You know, I've kind of always wanted my own stalker."

Her grimace unfurled itself into breathy laughter. He always did have a knack for making her smile in her weakest moments. Her Jim was still in here somewhere.

"Glad I could be of service. Did you want me to take pictures of you sleeping or steal the hair from your shower, too?"

"See, the hair stealing I'm okay with. But, to be honest with you, I look like a deformed gremlin when I'm asleep. I'd appreciate it if no one else had that documented."

With matching smiles, they settled into a comfortable silence before _so's_ petered into the open air.

As gazes finally met, he saw something new in her eyes, something he hadn't seen before.

She was scared, definitely. But she wasn't _afraid_. She was strong, willing, hopeful. Scared, but full of hope.

"I'm all ears when you're ready, Beesly."


	29. Chapter 29

His chuckle resounded between the hollow walls of his condo, masking the gurgles that her stomach had emitted in the silence that followed his loaded words.

"Were the waffles not substantial enough?"

Clutching her stomach, she could do little to stop the pink of her cheeks that framed her toothy grin, both transpiring at the way his head hung low and his grin curled to the side.

"No, no, Eggo and I had a lovely morning together. It's just, I guess, now that I'm thinking about it, I didn't really eat dinner last night. I kind of came straight here. Hence the Target run."

"Ah, fair enough," he replied, wedging his hands into his pockets, his head bowing slightly out of her line of sight. She may have cried in his arms the night before, but he wasn't quite ready to clue her in to the grin that tugged at his lips every time he thought about her rushing out of Dunder Mifflin to find him, the one that had him awake at 4 AM with no sign of going back to sleep, the same one that had him washing her clothes and running to the gas station in his pajamas to get her a fresh toothbrush and a box of Eggo's.

"So, what you're saying is, we need to find you sustenance, like, _now_."

"Try 'like _yesterday_ ,' Halpert."

With matching toothless grins, they made their way to his car, a comfortable silence settling as each became momentarily lost in thought.

"So, you're a little bit hypocritical, you know." Her words broke through the air, tickling his ears.

"Oh? Do tell." She could hear the smirk in his voice as his sideways glance scanned her from the driver's seat.

"How can you expect me to have three kitchens when your fancy new condo only has one?"

His left hand detached from the steering wheel, finding a comfortable resting place on the back of his neck while he debated his next words. She was here, putting herself on the line simply by existing in his presence. She deserved honestly from him. Or at least a solid effort.

"Well uh, if we're being honest here, Beesly, you are technically my kitchen's first official customer."

She let his words linger, thickening the air with their new presence.

"I mean, you've definitely gotten a little bit skinnier since the last time I saw you, but don't tell me you haven't eaten since you moved in," she replied, brows knitting in concern. Her torso had angled more to face him as his hand rubbed more ardently at the back of his neck.

"Not entirely. Just been getting a _lot_ of takeout."

"Have you exhausted all of the Hungry Man options? I'd suggest trying out Kid Cuisine; they all come with a dessert."

She was trying to lighten the mood; he could hear as much in her tone and the way that her her eyes didn't match the toothy smile she passed, but held an awkward vibe instead.

"Eh, not so much. Just uh, not really much motivation to fix myself anything."

And then it clicked. Adding to the list of _Ways Jim Has Deteriorated Since I Rejected Him_ was not only total disinterest and lack of motivation, but simple things like making himself something to eat that wasn't a family sized bag of potato chips. Her thoughts drifted to the way his refrigerator resembled one on the Best Buy showroom floor in its stark barrenness. Her heart hurt in that moment, once only clogged by all that had been left unsaid between them, but now stinging at the realization of just how badly those words _I can't_ had cut him.

"So, uh, what have you got a taste for, Beesly? Can I interest you in some of our fine Stamford cuisine? I'm pretty sure I've seen a golden arches around here once or twice before."

His lightheartedness was so expected, so typical _Jim_. He'd probably known her thoughts before that had developed fully in her head, could read her body language even with his eyes focused on the road. He knew his words were chewing away at her insides, that she was mulling again. She was grateful when he schlepped her from her downward spiral.

"While I appreciate the gesture, I don't think I'm up for a Happy Meal. Got anything else in mind?"

"Uh, yeah, I can do that. But I hope you're up for a bit of a road trip. We might have to drive around a little to find something else."

Again, his words tugged on her chest. _I'm pretty sure I've seen a golden arches around here once or twice before._ How nomadic had he become?

"You've been up here for _months_. You're not seriously telling me the only restaurant you've seen is a McDonald's."

"Well, if you're really lookin' to get a tour, I will gladly show you the local Stop & Shop, my favorite bar, and my local chip vendor, aka the Shell station that we passed on the way out."

"You mean the one on the corner, literally across the street from your condo?"

"Yep."

"And that's it?"

"Yep."

She turned her body to face forward now, chewing on the inside of her lip as she let the atmosphere weigh down on her with all of the sadness that he had suddenly morphed into.

"I'll have you know, contrary to popular belief, there really isn't much more to life than a hearty, family sized bag of sour cream and onion potato chips. I mean, they don't sound like much, but I'm pretty sure one could argue that they have addictive properties similar to cocaine."

She stifled a chuckle, her eyebrows peaking in a way that said _Really?_

"Even so, I think you might need something with a little bit more substance to your so called _favorite meal._ "

"Beesly, are you trying to tell me that an entire bag of chips does not constitute as a full meal?"

"That's exactly what I'm getting at. An entire box of crackers, however, I would argue for."

"Okay, let's hear it." 

"Hear what?"

"Your argument. For crackers, that is. Versus my nutritious and wholesome bag of breath-killing potato chips."

"Well, crackers are healthier, for one. Wheat Thins, Ritz, that whole lineup is pretty typical for smart snacking. Plus, you can always top them with other healthy things, like peanut butter or hummus-"

"Or spray cheese."

"Totally defeating the purpose." She rolled her eyes, her teeth showing in her smile this time as he pulled his car into a parking spot.

" _Wow_ , this looks like a sure step up in the world from chicken nuggets."

"Well, you know, I figured, I have a guest, might as well pull out all the stops."

He hadn't ever been to The Stamford Diner, hadn't ever passed it on his way to work or ended up there at two in the morning for a late night burger and fries. If he was being honest with himself, this was the first building that he'd stumbled upon when the tension inside the hot, stuffy, suddenly-too-small car was too much to bear.

He opened her car door, ran to grab the door of the restaurant, and stood until she sat down in the booth. It wasn't just because this was Pam. Mom had raised the Halpert boys to be true gentlemen.

But then again, he'd eventually grown lax when it came to opening doors for Katy. She would shuffle out of his front seat before he had the chance, and always had some snobby comment about, "being a big girl," and "doing it herself." So, he'd given up.

Okay. Maybe it _was_ justbecause this was Pam.

They spent an ample amount of time engaging in strict restaurant pleasantries: mulling over the menu, debating beverage choices, deciding early on whether or not to get dessert at the end of the meal. They were very good at being distracted from their intentions, at skirting the issue, at beating around the bush. They'd had plenty of practice; they'd been doing it for years, after all. But it was once their food was in front of them that they realized they could only gush and blather about the quality of Stamford diner quality burgers that they realized their number was up.

"So, tell me, Mr. Halpert: how long has it been since you've eaten a real cheeseburger?"

She held one hand to her ear, the other stretched across the table of their small booth as if she were holding a microphone, not quite reaching the burger that was perched between his fingers, teasing outside his lips.

"Oh, god, _too_ long." His eyes crossed comedically and rolled back with the rest of his head, eliciting many a giggle from the reporter who had officially broken character.

After most of her fries were officially digested, she poked a cold one at her dying ketchup pile, her other hand cradling her angled face.

"So. Tell me about Stamford. Is it really all it's cracked up to be?"

He shrugged, eyes downtrodden and focused on the burger that was gradually disappearing.

"Not really much to tell."

He was chewing methodically now, savoring every bite in the hopes that the cheese and meat would manifest into a neverending sandwich. He could feel her eyes trained on him, studying him, deciphering which route she wanted this conversation to take. It was going to be bad and rough and terrible and heartbreaking and he _knew that_ , but that didn't make the conversation any more desirable. He wanted the hard part to be over. He wanted to fast forward, to be propelled into happily ever after and life without Roy's and Katy's and silent non-confessions on boats. He didn't want her to see what a pathetic, miserable existence he'd been leading. But life wasn't the fairy tale that late night sitcoms and Friday night features made it out to be. If they were going to make any semblance of progress, she needed to see him for all of the flaws that he carried.

Putting her out of her misery, he let out a long, low breath, clutched his burger a little too tightly so that ketchup and mustard were dripping onto his plate, and tried his best to fill the parts of her that were still riddled with questions.

"I've kinda been on autopilot since I got here. Go to work, come home, watch tv until I pass out, wake up and do it all over again. Throw in the occasional night at the one bar that's closest to my place, and you've got the Sad, Sorry Life of Jim Halpert, movie rights pending."

He offered her a sheepish smile, a shrug, and prolonged eye contact with his burger when he just couldn't take that sad, pitiful, remorseful look that shone behind her irises.

"So, now that you know about ole woebegone Jim, what's going on with Fancy New Beesly? Aside from the single-kitchen apartment, obviously."

A curt chuckle passed through her lips, followed quickly by a shrug and evasive eyes. Staring more so at the tabletop than him, she told her own tale.

"I mean, not much. I have a new car, new apartment. I'm taking art classes and trying to be more...I don't know, _bold_."

She toyed with the straw in her glass, swirling it around the bottom edges where ice cubes were changing from solid to liquid.

"But honestly, Jim, I've been pretty miserable, too."

" _You_ were miserable?" He eyed her questioningly, a derisive chuckle scratching in his throat. "I...why? I mean, what did you have to be miserable about? You got what you wanted, didn't you? You made your mind up. You _chose_ to be with Roy. You _wanted_ to get married."

She scoffed, her fidgety fingers finding purpose in crossing her chest and tucking into her elbows as she sat upright, no longer craving the shelter of hiding her face and her emotions.

"I didn't _make up my mind_ , Jim. You kind of made it up for me."

"I don't...care to elaborate for me here?"

His lips said he was annoyed, and his eyebrows said he was confused, but his eyes said something different, something longing and hoping and _wanting_ to find the source of her anger.

"I don't know, Jim. I was….I was _mad_. _God_ was I mad."

Her cheeks reflected her memories, reddening and growing more tense, as mimicked in the fists that were clenching atop their table. She wasn't avoiding his gaze so much as letting her head shake from side to side as the words finally, _finally_ extinguished into reality.

"Mad? I don't know…"

"You just...you dumped _everything_ on me. You dumped it _all_ , and then you gave me _no_ time to even process what was happening."

That inclination to avoid the intensity in his searching stare creeped up once again. Her eyes drifted to the diner counter which looked in upon the kitchen, a lowly chef adding lettuce and tomato to a freshly cooked patty. She watched as the top bun was slapped over large, purple onions, and the plate was slid across the counter to a man who resembled a truck driver. With her eyes trained on the plaid crisscrossing of his shirt, she continued.

"You ran away. You ran away like...I don't know, like you were mad that I didn't respond like you wanted me to? And then you just...you _left_. You _left me_ , Jim. To pick all of this mess up on my own. Without letting me explain, or giving us the time to hash things through. You said you loved me, and then you _ran_. You didn't even say goodbye."

He observed her profile, her eyes still staring aimlessly to her left, noticing the liquid pooled at her eyelashes, her chin balanced on prayer-clasped hands. Her head snapped to direct her words to him, needing him to see the pain that pooled in her darkening stare.

"I mean, honestly, how did you expect me to react to that? Did you think I was going to jump into your arms and run away into the night with you or something?" Her voice was so small, laden in whispers, a tone that his ears were exclusively tuned into. "I was _engaged,_ Jim. No matter how much I look back and regret that, no matter how many times I admit to my own stupidity, there was still someone else in the picture. I couldn't just do that to Roy out of the blue."

Her pause gave him room to process, to fixate on the only part of the conversation that would continue to fuel his hostility.

"Would it have really been out of the blue though?"

"You know what I mean," she passed bitterly, through clenched teeth.

His expression, while hard and affronted, urged her forward, his eyes saying _No I don't. Please, do tell._

"Put yourself in my shoes, Jim. You've had these feelings for me for...god only knows how long, but you didn't know if I felt the same, and then when I didn't immediately sail off into the sunset with you, you vanished. It's like...when Spiderman realized he had superpowers. He had to sit and think about it before he took the job. He wasn't just like, 'Wow, cool! Let me jump immediately into fighting crime!' It was a lot to think about, Jim. And you didn't stay long enough to let it happen. Hell, you didn't stay long enough for me to do much more than nod my head. Your tires were squealing out of the parking lot before I had even made it into the ladies room to cry or something. Of course I was mad. I've felt conflicted for a while, too, ya know. You sped to the finish line before I had passed the halfway point of the race, and when I didn't immediately sprint to the finish, you just..."

She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Letting her eyes drop to the glass that had partially refilled itself with melted ice, she sucked the liquid up through her straw, saturating her parched throat.

"I guess I just...I…" At a loss for words, he hung his head, resting his forehead on clenched hands. For all the times he'd pictured them finally being together, pictured her leaving Roy and jumping into his arms and professing to him the same feelings he'd had since he first saw her smile, he'd never once considered her situation.

And he felt like an ass.

Sorry wasn't going to cut it. But with his head now drowning in perspective, he didn't trust his own words, not yet anyway.

"Hey, can we uh...can we like, hit the pause button for a sec?" A pleading chuckle pulled at his lips, under hooded eyes that were begging her to empathize.

She eyed him questioningly, the hurt and pain still clinging to eyes of green.

"I just...Pam, this is a _lot_ , and I feel like we're nowhere near done. Maybe we take a break from the heavy stuff for a little while and, I don't know, just...hang out? Be us for a minute? I'm pretty sure we have a lot of catching up to do that _isn't_ about our past relationship mistakes."

If only so slightly, her eyes crinkled upwards, lips following in a way that lessened the mountain of tension that had just settled in his shoulders. Unable to form the words, she simply nodded her head, dabbed at her eyes with the cuff of her cardigan, and stood from the table. They were communicating in their own silent language now, still beat from the abuse that their verbiage had just painted the atmosphere with. It only took him a simple shake of the head when she tried to offer him cash for their check, and her thank you was a single nod, so similar in motion. On their way out the door, he palmed her hand, his intent wholly to reassure her with the squeeze he passed between them.

The silence in the car was more comfortable, more relaxed. The tension had subsided slightly, tottering when his hand had slipped into her grasp. If only for just this moment, their heart rates were beating at a normal pace.

He had made one left-hand turn before a smirk tugged at his lips.

"Are you trying to get us murdered?"

With eyes wide, she turned to face him as he unbuckled his seat belt.

"I know, I know. The name _looks_ sketchy, but trust me: the creepier the name, the better the place!"

"Fun 4 Kids, Jim? Fun 4 Kids? We're going to die."

He was circling to car to open her door now, his toothy grin lighting up the afternoon sky as she climbed out, arms crossed indignantly across her body.

"C'mon. It'll be fun."

"I'm calling my mother first to tell her that I love her."

Without question, she followed him inside the building that, much to her displeasure, wasn't as sketchy as its marquee had made it seem.

She gratefully accepted his handful of tokens, and all at once, they fell into their old patterns, full of jokes and laughter and friendly arcade competition. By the time they'd cashed in their tickets for paper bags full of useless trinkets, her cheeks hurt from smiling, and he was sure he'd have a red mark on the back of his neck from the amount of times he'd rubbed there in an attempt to quell the rising bubbles in his belly.

Their laughter continued into his condo, filling otherwise blank walls with vibrant color.

Pointing towards the bathroom with her thumb, she asked, "Hey do you mind if I um...I just, I feel kind of gross…"

"Yeah! Yeah, no absolutely. I'll just grab you a towel."

And there he was. Alone in thought, while nothing but a wall stood between him and Pam's naked body. While his mind was certainly overwhelmed, he didn't have room for these kinds of thoughts right now. He'd been so wrapped up in having fun with her that the feeling of guilt and remorse and _God I'm such an ass_ had faded away, only settling back in for a long winter's nap when he planted his butt firmly on the couch. He had a lot of thinking to do.

He wasn't wrong when he'd mentioned that this conversation wouldn't be a "one and done." They were going to be at this for quite some time. They had so much to hash out, to work through, and having this time to just be by herself to revisit what they'd worked out that afternoon was almost calming, as the warm water rushed over her grungy skin.

She never truly thought about how her denial would affect him. Sure, it had been easy for her to stand her ground, to remind him that she was engaged and that they were friends and that this wasn't going to happen. It had ripped her apart to no end, to have her world blown away, because he'd gotten to mull over this for months so he should have at least concluded that rejection was a possibility, right? He should have worked out that things might not go his way, found alternate solutions. But seeing this sliver of the man she once knew, the one for whom she had driven across the country in the middle of the night, reduced to a hollow shell, had her heart weeping.

Even so, he wasn't all innocence either. He'd been in love with her for so long, had seen the way that she responded when they'd gotten closer. He had _so many_ opportunities to say _anything_ , but he'd chosen to hold back. When she was wrapped in his arms, staring into his eyes, professing her insecurities about her fiance. All of those moments were lost. As she replayed each one in her head, she realized that, had she been paying attention, she would have been able to pinpoint the exact moments where he'd lost them.

It was a simple twitch in his eyes, the way they'd dart to the ceiling. The hitching in his throat when he'd stifle a sob or swallow down words. It was the way he'd raise his hand only to pull it back.

If she'd only been _awake._

Stepping out of the shower, she patted at the mirror with a towel, finding her skin shiny and pink, vigor laden eyes staring back at her. She found a new shirt waiting in a neat fold where the towel had just lain. This one said _HALPERT_ on the back, too, but the stickers were more worn, the logos more faded. Somehow, as she draped the men's size XL over her small body, this one seemed to hug her more tightly.

With her hair toweled and damp and drying into natural curls, she found him on the couch, looking more relaxed, as he had changed into jeans and a t-shirt of his own, with a book cradled in his lap. His crooked grin found her as her bare feet shuffled across the carpet.

"All squeaky clean?"

"And smelling like a man," she replied with a grin that made him chuckle as he pictured the bottle of cheap Suave body wash whose scent he never truly recognized until she was perched next to him on the couch.

 _So's_ tangled together once again, but he was prepared this time, and she knew that this was what they needed. More confidently, he met her stare.

"Ready to put your dukes back up, Beesly?" He grinned, apology already written in his eyes.

Sheepishly, she nodded, and dropped her knees that were folded underneath her shrinking body.

"Can I...I mean I just...god, I'm so _sorry_ , Pam."

She could see the way his eyes fought, his fingers fumbled on the knees of his jeans, and then folded upon each other. Back in that dreadful restaurant booth, he'd given her time. It was her turn to do the same.

"I guess I just...I'd been dreaming of that moment for so long, and when it didn't happen the way I wanted it to, I...panicked. Never in a million years did I think you'd come right out and say that you lo...that you felt the same way. But I guess it was fight or flight for me. I either stayed there to take you head on or I took off. You know the rest."

A chuckled tailed his words as he slowly lifted his head and continued.

"But never once did I even stop to consider the fact that you...you might need more than sixty seconds to decide, or to understand where I was coming from. In all of my...god, this is embarrassing...every time that I've pictured this happening, Pam, it was always just this, kind of, immediate thing. Like when you see it happen in the movies. I'd tell you I...how I felt, and then you'd…"

"Jump into your arms and run away with you into the sunset?"

"I am pathetic."

"No, you're not," she reassured him, pulling a pillow into her lap to hug onto as he continued his declaration.

"So...I never really got to the part where you'd have to call off your wedding and end things with Roy. In my head, he was just an oaf who didn't deserve you, and you'd tell him off and that would be the end of it. I never took into consideration how complicated things on that end would be."

She nodded, her chin pushing into the pillow, her eyes drawn towards the carpet.

"Do you have any idea how long I was waiting for you to say something?"

"What did you...want me to say?"

"I don't know, how you felt about me? I mean, I don't think you all of a sudden just _loved me out of the blue_ that night. You had to have been feeling that way for awhile."

When he didn't respond with his words, but with the intensity in his eyes growing beyond measure, she continued.

"I mean, _god_ , Jim, all those times we hung out and you couldn't say anything?"

 _Those times that we fell asleep wrapped around each other. Those moments when I was cuddling with you on the couch and you were cooking me breakfast in your kitchen._

 _You should break up with him._

"How was I supposed to say something, Pam?" His clasped hands fell between spread knees, his head hanging low but still searching her gaze, his tone teetering between anger and desperation.

"Should I have said it when we were on _your_ couch, in the same house that you _shared_ with him? Maybe I could have brought it up at work? While he was standing at your desk?"

Hostility hinted in his eyes as his back straightened slightly.

"Well...how else was I supposed to know how you felt?"

"Oh, I don't know, Pam. Was me telling you to break up with him too subtle for you? Was it not enough that I let you lay in my bed and cry in my arms? I don't do that for any Joe Schmoe on the street, you know. When I said you deserved better, I was talking about me. How did you not get that?"

Tears stung her eyes now. He'd _never_ used this tone with her. As he spat the words into existence, she hoped this was something they'd overcome now and never have to reopen again. As she blinked the tears away, her lips twisting into a grimaced pout, his volume finally subsided to a whisper. She knew this was hurting him, knew that he hated what he was doing to her with these words. But they were his truth. And the truth hurt sometimes.

"Do you have... _any_ idea how hard it was for me to watch you with him? God, Pam, I don't know what was worse: watching you guys flirt and plan your wedding five feet from my desk, or watching him break you beyond repair day in and day out."

They locked eyes for only just a moment, before a strangled sob escaped lips that were folded inwards in a last ditch effort to stay silent, to let him speak his peace.

"To watch him put his hands on you, to whisper into your ear, to take you home every night? It _killed_ me, Pam. Alcohol didn't even numb it, it made it _worse_. It was like I couldn't escape the taunting that you weren't mine, like the world wanted to remind me as often as possible that you were _his_."

He couldn't even twist his lips into any semblance of a grin, couldn't give her so much as a nod of affirmation as tears filled his eyes, as if an old would had been freshly ripped open.

Garbled and laden with a gravelly undertone, he uttered, "Pause?"

"Pause."

Her words were on the edge of fresh tears, accompanied by rapid nods of her head, as they met halfway in a soul crushing hug, his own tears hitting the top of her mostly dry head as she ruined the front of another one of his shirts. They clung there for several minutes, the feel of her fingers clutching his shirt now becoming familiar as he traced small circles on her back with his thumbs.

"Extended pause? Pizza and a movie?" She dabbed at her eyes, now red and puffy, as she tried to assimilate a grin to the ever growing ups and downs of their emotions.

"Just as long as it has-"

"Cheese in the crust."

Now she was smiling, if ever so slightly, as she began to edge off the couch.

"That's my-that'a girl."

She was blushing now, thankful for the distraction of wandering into the kitchen to find a copy of the YellowPages.

"So, I think this might be _the_ most appropriate title I could find for us this evening."

Dazed and Confused.

Even she couldn't hide the cheek splitting laughter.

As they sat side by side finishing off their meal, the gap between them a cushion away, her words tumbled into the darkness. He felt them in his chest before he heard them.

"I tried to call."

"You...what?"

"I tried to call you. Right after I left your-Mark's place. But you didn't answer. You changed your number. Did you really want me out of your life that badly?"

He set his slice of pizza down in the box, exhaled loudly, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"In a sense, yes. It hurt too much to see you, you know? To have you five feet from my desk but a million miles away from where I wanted you to be. To know that you were out there somewhere not...feeling that way back. And once I finally _knew_ that you didn't, you know, feel that way, I had to do _something_ , Pam. Something to stop the pain. I'd tried everything else. Running was my last resort, and I had to take it."

Suddenly, she was scooching against him, her body snug against his side, a hug encircling his waist from both sides. Her head tucked into his shoulder, clasped hands resting on his hip. He could feel the breath as it left her lungs, the change in air as it filled her again. The silence lingered, save for Matthew McConaughey and Jason London cackling from the speakers, as her words prickled in his head.

"What do you mean, after you _left Mark's place?_ "

Her fingernails were gentle, trailing along his forearm. She'd made at least four passes up and down before she spoke.

"That...that day. When I realized you were gone. I took off. I went to your place. I tried to...I wanted to...I don't know, stop you? Give us another chance to at least _talk_. But then that girl said you were already gone. So I went back to work. And cried in the bathroom for over an hour before I could go back out and answer phones like a normal person."

She couldn't see the way his eyes bugged, but she could feel his body shift, could feel the way he sat up slightly against her body, the top of her head suddenly relieved of the comfortable pressure his chin had caused.

"What _girl_? Kimmy?"

She lifted her head, turning slightly enough so that he could view her profile, but keeping her eyes trained on the television.

"No, not Kimmy. Some girl answered the door and said she was waiting to give your landlord your keys. She told me you were already on the road."

Her lips upturned at the thought of that girl who looked so similar to the man she was nestled against. She had to be his sister, without a doubt. She just hadn't put the pieces together in that moment. She'd had too much on her mind.

"She has your smile."

Settling back against one another, he let his mind flash, for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, to someone who wasn't Pam.

He'd be giving Larisa a call in the morning for _sure_.

The credits continued to roll long after they'd succumbed to sleep.

Woken by a stray car alarm at two in the morning, she was pleasantly surprised to find his arms still wrapped around her, his body cradling her fully, as she sat in his lap with their bodies flush from head to toe. With eyes still sealed, she nuzzled into his neck, her nose turning in to brush against the valley where his neck disappeared into his collar.

"We should probably get some actual sleep." His voice dripped with slumber; his breath warm in her ear.

She nodded against him, feeling the soft cotton of his t-shirt against her forehead. Slowly, reluctantly, she sat up, readjusted her body on the couch, and pulled the blanket off its back to cover her.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He looked so adorable, all half-asleep, one eye still pinched shut and standing above her, the base of his abdomen showing a little as he pulled his arms behind his head to stretch.

"Uhm, going to bed?" she giggled, pulling her feet up onto the couch and clutching the blanket in both hands.

"Uh uh, nope. Nice try, slick. Let's go."

"You are too tall to sleep on this couch!"

Her laughter was fuller now as he pulled her into a standing position, playfully pulling her by the arm until she was standing at the foot of his bed, the blanket dragging behind her. His grasp on her arm remained as they stood there in the dark, eyes meeting and parting, meeting and parting. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, lost herself in the forest green of his eyes, and wrapped her arms around his back, holding herself tightly to his chest. He immediately reciprocated, finding it so easy to envelope her completely, so natural to fit her head under his chin. They swayed side to side like that, completely engulfing one another, until she finally propped her chin on his chest and tilted her head back, eyes yearning.

"Stay with me tonight. Please?"

He responded without words, but instead with his lips lingering softly and tenderly against her forehead, his large hands cradling the small of her back. Slowly, he let his fingers drift along her body to snag her fingers in his, and he tugged her to the side of the bed while he lifted the covers with the other hand. She fit so perfectly spooned in front of him. He loved the feel of her body pressed against his so flushly, her curls dancing in his nostrils, the slight pulse of her chest as she breathed in and out. No matter where they stood tonight, she was here. Nuzzling her nose against his bicep, with fingers wrapped around his forearm, breath slowing, eyelashes fluttering.

Wearing his t-shirt.

She was here.

And as her consciousness faded into dreams that would surely never live up to awakeness, she smiled.


	30. Chapter 30

Staring up at the ceiling fan that rotated slowly enough for him to follow the individual blades as they painted his arms with goose bumps, Jim was having an early morning fight with his subconscious.

 _You should be_ happy, _asshole_.

 _I know. I_ know _that_.

 _So wipe that pout off your face._

He generally had a pretty blithe, easy-going disposition, not typically finding himself upset to the point of wearing dank emotions on his sleeve. But even now, without a mirror to provide reflection, he could feel the ridge dipped across his forehead, the way his eyebrows were pushed together, the way his lips were pursed into a pout. All while the woman he'd been pining after for so long was willingly lying with her body draped across his arm, her body cuddled up to his side, the breath from her nose tickling his skin.

He _should_ be happy.

But with their conversation from the previous night waking him up as the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, her words itched in his brain, sudden gaps and unanswered qualms tingling in his fingers and making his legs twitch to move and pace and demand answers.

His restlessness almost drove him to hop out of bed, walk the walls of his apartment, call his sister, _something_ to draw his thoughts away from dragging him down instead of letting him live in the bubble of happiness that he thought had formed by the time she fell asleep in his arms. Instead, he was trying to rationalize with himself, to make the implications that jumped out at him in the middle of the night just _go away,_ to just accept that she was _here now_ , and that was all that mattered.

But it wasn't going away. Frankly, it was getting worse with each mile in the sky that the sun rose. If his eastern facing window didn't wake her, the tapping of his leg against the side of the bed would. If she was awake, they could talk. He could have his answers. He'd be free from the vomit of possibilities that was filling his cranium.

 _But why would you even want to wake her up? Look at that sweet face. Is it even possible to smile in your sleep? Because her lips have not turned down all night, brother._

 _Would you just shut up and let me think?!_

 _Hey, I'm just trying to help._

Well you're doing a terriblejob of it.

Shifting his head ever so slightly, his gaze fell atop her head, where her curls had begun to frizz and her eyes fluttered against the cotton of his t-shirt and bated breath stifled in and out of her nose.

His subconscious had a point: he _should_ be happy. Should be _ecstatic_ , really. She was here. She was curled in his arms, of her own will, and with the way things were going, he couldn't see her darting off and running home this time.

Unless, of course, they continued down this road of talking things out, and the fighting scared her away.

Which returned him to the reasons behind the foot tapping and the fidgeting and the need to get up and _do something_ to quell his thoughts.

As the eastern light became one with his bedroom window, he realized that time was wearing thin. She stirred in his arms, her fingers seeming to clench the cotton of his t-shirt; he could feel where the breeze kissed the bit of his abdomen that was now peeking out.

The sounds that were squeaking in her throat made him swallow a frustrated lump in his; she was mewling and sighing all of those delicious, early morning sounds, fighting to stay asleep. It was adorable, really, the childlike nature in which she was she stirred herself awake.

"Mhm, you need curtains," she mumbled groggily as her eyes squeezed tighter against the intense sunlight that had stolen their final moments of serenity.

Her arm stretched across his abdomen, her nose burrowing into his chest; he watched the smile widen across her cheeks before her eyes fluttered open, like a butterfly landing on its perch. He'd pictured this moment so often that it was causing him tangible pain to not enjoy it.

"Yeah, that might be a good idea." His chuckle was stitled, his arms more stiffly around her than he'd have liked it to have been in this moment, where the light coming in through the window was making her skin golden and her smile shine.

Quickly, that smile was gone, wiped away by the concern that knit in her brows at the language his body was choosing to converse in. Something was wrong.

"Hey." The words whispered past her lips as a puff of air against his chest. "Are you okay?"

With the hand that wasn't stiffly clutching around her elbow, he wiped across the length of his face, along the top of his head, and back down again as he muttered, "Uhm, yeah, I just...processing."

He met her grim expression with a formidable one of his own, feeling only a fleeting pang of regret at her downturned lips.

With eyes fixed on his shirt, she nuzzled against his chest, seeming to pull her body tighter with the hand that still grasped his shirt. "Starting off the morning with a bowl of cereal and a side of confrontation, huh?"

A sigh exhausted from his lungs, as he let his fingers trail more innocently up and down her arms. "Guess that's about what this looks like, huh?"

The silence hung over them like storm clouds looming, despite the bright Sunday light streaming in and leaving crisscrossing patterns on his floor.

"So, uhm, could we maybe eat something first? I don't want to go into a cage match on an empty stomach."

At this, his lips pulled upward, and he cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Absolutely. Let's smash some waffles before we put the gloves back on."

They were wordless as they ate, brushed teeth, freshened up. It was odd; he'd pictured this early morning stillness much different, not quite as heavy and riddled with the promise of more hateful words. As he handed her the last plate to dry, he let the bubbles in the sink claim his focus, watching them swell and pop instead of watching the lines in her face come together again.

"Pam...how long did you know?"

It was a simple question, really, one that he both craved and feared the answer to, one that had woken him with a painful start when he realized, through the memories of what she'd said last night, that he was still in the dark about. She took her time, methodically drying the dish in hand until she was afraid she'd start chipping the paint off.

"How long did I know what?"

"C'mon, don't do that."

She couldn't see the eye roll, as her own gaze was fixated on the loops of the dish towel that had pulled away from the rest, but she could hear it in his inflection.

Trying but failing to gulp down the growing welt in her throat, she closed her eyes, braced her hands on the counter, and continued.

"Uh, I guess...I don't know, Jim? I guess, awhile now?"

"Define _awhile_." The amount of bubbles he had as distractible options was slowly dwindling as they popped and disappeared into thin air, mimicking his dwindling patience for her avoidance tactics.

"Does it really matter? We're here now, aren't we?"

Her voice was small, quiet, childlike in its apprehension, but he pressed on.

"It matters to me, Pam." His voice hitched on her name, and he jutted his chin towards the ceiling.

The loose thread was getting longer now, as she pulled at its edges. She was going to have to buy him new dish towels; she wasn't sure if he actually had any others to use in this wasteland of a home.

"Okay, uhm...if I _had_ to settle on a specific time, I'd probably say...Valentine's Day? At least, that's when I knew for sure. I'd...been speculating for awhile, but that night...and that _morning_...that's when it actually hit me."

He tapped his fingers along the cool metal of the sink, letting his head become level again.

"So you... _knew_ , what you were doing to me...all this time?"

He sounded so defeated, as if the words were leaving his breath like a quickly deflating balloon, taking his upper body with them as she watched his shoulders drop dramatically. Thus began a steady stream of silent, fat tears down both of her cheeks; she gave no attempt to even stop them.

He was still facing the sink, his head sunk low, picking at the wash rag that hung limp on the edge of the sink. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to gather him in her arms, to feel him close to her, because in that moment, she could feel him rapidly slipping through her fingers.

She reached for him, tentatively, fearing that any touch rendered would be reciprocated with a flinch she was sure she couldn't bare. Instead, she let her hand drop, grasping at the hem of her- _his_ -t-shirt that she was still cloaked in, uttering echoing words that she had been so grateful for the night before.

"I...Jim? Can we...pause?"

He turned to face her, his eyes riddled with a pain she thought they'd overcome by this point. This pain was new, though, more laden in betrayal and deception.

"No, Pam, I don't wanna _pause_ anymore. I want...I want to _yell_. I want to know why it took you so long to say something. I want you to tell me why you strung me along for so long. _Jesus_ , I just want to _know_."

It wasn't the reaction she was expecting, but one that she accepted, provisionally so.

"I...I was scared, Jim. Jesus, I was supposed to be getting _married_ for god's sake, and all of a sudden I had these...these _feelings_ for you that wouldn't go away no matter how much I beat them down. I figured...I guess, if _you_ had just said something, made me know that it was real, that I wasn't making it all up in my head, then..I didn't think I'd have to say anything. I thought that you'd...something would happen and you'd own up to it eventually."

"I _literally_ _told you to break up with him_ , Pam. Those _exact_ words came out of my mouth."

"Yes, but they weren't in the context of you _loving me_." He could taste the bite in her words, the fight, the defensiveness.

"How can you say that?" His breathing was labored, the words scratchy, as if new and uncomfortable. "How can you say that I didn't _tell you all of those things_ because I loved you?"

"Because _every time_ you said something like that, you followed it up with friendship!" she exclaimed, her arms waving animatedly, frantically, mimicking the fire in her eyes. "You're so over concerned with _me_ not saying anything, but do you _remember_ all of the cop outs that you pulled?"

His jaw, pressed and hard, tightened along with the arms across his chest. The jutting of his chin was her cue to press on.

"Whenever I'd throw you a bone, you'd throw it right back. Shit, I sat and _complained about Roy_ to you, and all you did was act like my buddy, my pal. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, Jim, but at least I was trying!"

"Trying and then running away!"

"You ran, too! All the way here. And I came _after_ you, Jim!"

He thought about it, contemplated for several beats the retort of _it took you long enough._ But he couldn't do that. Not after everything they'd been through in these past twenty-four hours. Not with the fact that they were both here, grappling at that, but trying.

"Well...what did you want me to say?" There was a hint of annoyance in her tone, as he glanced up from where his gaze rested on the edge of the sink to see her arms folded defensively across her body.

"I wanted you to tell me how you were feeling, how you were _actually_ feeling. Not some bullshit about Roy. If you were so confused about what was going on, you could have _talked_ to me, Pam. We were in the same boat."

"So why couldn't _you_ have told _me_? You were more certain than I was. Or, at least, I have to assume you were. Why was it all on my shoulders?"

"Why couldn't _I_ have told you? Oh, I don't know, Pam. Maybe because you ran out every chance you got? You literally bolted out my door. Twice. And then you'd...you'd- _initiate_ things and then turn around and do a one-eighty in the opposite direction. You were so fucking hot and cold...what was I supposed to do?"

It was her turn to wallow, stewing in the bluntness of his words. He wasn't wrong. She had run out on him, on the absolute basis of fear. She hadn't revealed that to him then, nor had she now. But this was the time for honesty, no matter how brutally their words were stinging one another. _You gotta take a chance on sometime sometime, Pam_ rang in her ears, suddenly reminding her of the first time he'd ever been assertive with her. That stream of thoughts was stilled as his voice cut through the air once more, his timbre deeper this time, his tone low and rich, rattling her to the bone.

"I didn't want to say something and scare you off, either. I know it sounds so stupid, _god_ does it, but I...Pam, I didn't want us to be those, like...awkward friends who don't return feelings for one another and then just...just fade out of each other's lives. I couldn't live with myself if you weren't a part of my life anymore."

The words had dictated, but his eyes were proclaiming everything else, the deep, rich green striking her suddenly cold as he held her gaze, trapped her in her place, and disappeared all too soon.

They were both still heated, radiating to the touch, as they stormed to opposite ends of the kitchen, stewing in their own thoughts. The tears hadn't even thought of surfacing in the anger that was bubbling over, dissipating only when they had separated and let out huffy breaths. He heard her feet pad in resounding wallops into his front room. On bated breath, he awaited the sound of the front door opening, but it never came.

He wasn't sure he'd even heard the small _thud_ until he noticed the shine of purple and silver out of his peripheral vision. It was a can of grape Crush soda, with two crinkled Post-It notes affixed to it, one on top and one on the bottom. When he read the Post-It's with the name of the soda, it said,

 **I've got a**

 **CRUSH**

 **on you.**

"Is it too late to say something?"

She looked so small, engulfed in his huge high-school basketball t-shirt, her arms folded and her chin tucked against her chest. His heart swelled, ached. His fingers traced the circular outline on top of the can, as if trying to read braille intentions. Without meeting her eyes, he lapped over her neat printing, focused intently on the word _you_.

"It was supposed to be your Valentine's Day present. You know, tradition."

His fingers continued their tracing, eyes meeting the grainy wood of the table, in silence.

"You ran out so fast that day that I didn't really get the chance to give it to you. Or thank you for the ice cream. And then it...kind of just sat in my desk for awhile. Sorry if it's warm."

She was pursing her lips in a way that said _I'm really trying here,_ but she didn't have to. He was already standing, crossing the kitchen, and filling two glasses with ice.

"Nothing a little ice can't fix."

He was standing above her now, so tall compared to the way her body was shriveled in upon itself. He thrust one glass outward, along with a grin that tugged with equal parts apology and _truce?_ He took a mental note of the way her fingers brushed intentionally against his as she took the glass.

The pour of the syrupy purple against clean glass and fresh ice cubes roared deafeningly, the pop and fizz of the carbonation settling lightly over the top.

He took a long gulp, finishing nearly all of his share of sugary soda in one gulp.

"So, a _crush_ , Beesly? Wait-do you _like me_ like me? I mean, come on, how serious is this? Are we going steady? Can I hold your hand on our way back from algebra? When we slow dance at the turnabout, _will_ we be leaving room for Jesus?"

Laughter passed by teeth that were gleaming in the light that streamed in through his kitchen window.

"Oh, come on, it was supposed to be cute."

Her head hung low towards the table, curls tumbling, as her attempts to feign anguish were warded off by laughter.

"It was very cute," he replied through shared chuckles, his fingers dancing along the woodtop of the table. As their laughter began to peter, he let the thrumming of his fingers come to bump hers that were still clamped around her glass. He traced the top of her index finger slightly, back and forth, before nudging her fingers away from the glass and loosely holding on, his thumb brushing gently along the back of her hand.

"So...Valentine's Day, huh?"

Nodding, with lips pursed in a line that hinted upward just a smidge, she squeezed his hand back.

"Yeah. Valentine's Day."

The contented silence was only broken at first by the slight brushing of fingers, the inhaling and exhaling of breath.

"It was the way you looked at me," she began, unprompted. "The way you...cared about me, with...this... _selflessness_. You were sad in my sadness; you weren't even thinking about yourself. I can't even remember the last time Roy put me first." The memory danced past her eyes, her anguish in Roy's actions abated by the overwhelming joy that Jim had blanketed her in that night. "You just...you made me realize how a...how love is _supposed_ to work. And, that night, I could see that it wasn't just you casually being my friend. There was something else there, something that I'd been blind to for _so_ long. And, honestly Jim, that kind of scared me. It scared me a _lot_."

He nodded, his gaze still pulled toward the glass in his hand, to where their fingers connected, to the crook in her elbow that was covered in his maroon sleeves.

"I didn't know how to tell you...didn't know what to say when I wasn't really sure what I actually wanted myself. I mean, obviously I was feeling _something_ , but I was also planning a wedding and...it was all just very confusing, ya know?"

His lips pursed, curled, scrunched along with his eyes.

"So it wasn't that I didn't see how you felt. I think it was more like...didn't _want_ to see. I didn't want something getting in the way of the track I had my life on. It just took me a little while to figure out that I had just been on the wrong track for a long time."

He could see the hope in her eyes that had broken through the dark clouds that just moments before had consumed them. He'd never heard her this truthful before. Sitting up a little straighter, he watched as her heart continued to flood the room.

"Do you know how scary it is to think that your life is headed in one direction and all of a sudden have it going somewhere completely different?"

"Well, I _did_ just recently move across New England," he chuckled, scooting his chair closer to the table.

"Oh relax. You still get Phillies broadcasts, don't you?" Her sarcasm was accompanied by the first smile he'd seen all morning.

"On the contrary. Friday was an exception because they were on ESPN. I mostly get the Red Sox now, which, in light of recent World Series championships, I will not complain too much about. Plus I like David Ortiz. Dude's a _monster_."

Awkward laughter overlapped in the thick air that was beginning to settle. Their fingers were perspiring at the point of contact, but he really didn't want to let her go.

"So... I guess, really, I was just waiting around for you to make some kind of move that told me I wasn't crazy, that I wouldn't be, like, uprooting my entire life for nothing, if that makes sense. I didn't want to tell you that I was all of a sudden feeling these things for you that were new and thrilling and scary, for you to, like, beat it back down with a bat and put me in this awkward friend zone. I'd know one way or another when you told me. But when you didn't, I just figured you were, I don't know, over it or something. Over _me_. If you had ever actually been…"

Her eyebrows quirked as her lips furled in thought, her gaze floating to the ceiling. He smirked, clueing together what she was trying to avoid saying.

"If I'd ever actually been…?"

"Please don't make me say it."

"Oh, I'm _gonna_ make you say it. C'mon. We both need a laugh right now."

"Okay, _fine_. If you had ever actually been _under me_."

" _That's_ what she said! _God_ , it's been awhile."

He removed his hand from hers to pump his fists enthusiastically into the air, throwing his head back as a grin spread wide across his cheeks.

"I hate you," she chortled, her squinting eyes betrayed by the way her lips were tugging into a sideways grin.

"You do not," he deadpanned.

"No. No I don't."

It was a silence that was new, still tension riddled, but a new type of tension, a _where do we go from here?_ aire hanging about. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop several times, his gaze shifting about before, "So...I am in desperate need of curtains. Care to help me pick out something in between 'depressed bachelor' and 'grandma?'" came tumbling past his lips.

"Absolutely." Her smile said so many different things, from gratefulness to amusement to simple joy.

He offered her a new, third t-shirt, his next smallest one being a Phillies shirt from the nineties with Curt Schilling's name on the back, but it wasn't visible under the massive zippered hoodie that he draped over her shoulders before they headed out into the autumn sun.

As she pushed the cart around Target and he jokingly threw Batman sheets and curtains into the basket with a stark serious expression, she was brought back to that day on the ice rink, the day that they had spent worrying over Kevin and spending their lunch break at Rite-Aid buying M&M's and fabric softener. That familiar feeling crept through her body like the warmth of a summer's day, that this moment that they existed in was the missing cog she had been searching for.

They bickered playfully as she tossed food items into the cart, Jim loading up on chips and cookies while Pam insisted that he find something that wouldn't 'slowly ruin his insides.'

"And why, dare I ask, do you care so much about my insides?" He was over-expressive as he snuck a second box of Cheez-Its into the growing pile in their cart. "Here, I thought it was the _outside_ that you ladies cared about."

She simply shrugged, her lips curling only slightly. "Because, your insides keep you alive, and I very much like you that way."

"Huh. See, now, I pegged you for a _dead guys_ type of girl. I was only trying to help make your dreams come true."

He returned her shrug, his sideways smirk breaking into a full grin when she couldn't hold her laughter in any longer.

"You're gross," she chuckled, shaking her head as they headed towards the registers.

"Just doin' my job," he retorted.

She held the kitchen chair stable and handed him screws as he hung up the curtain rod, rewarding him with an overly excited clap and ditty around the room once the job was done and the room was shadowed in an intense grey.

She flopped backwards onto the bed, her head landing on the pillow she had fixed in that same spot earlier when they'd made the bed together in silence, their demeanor so much different in this same space, then seeming worlds away. Closing her eyes, she sighed in contentment, resting her folded hands over her stomach.

"See? You could sleep in for _hours_ like this. No pesky sun to wake you up before noon on a Saturday."

In the cloak of the room's new darkness, he joined her tentatively on the bed. Propped on his side by an elbow, he watched her, drinking in the lazy Sunday afternoon stillness of where they were, their words finally tame. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to sweep his fingers across her face, but he didn't. Instead, he just let the truth tumble into the shadows, feeling free enough to respond without hesitation.

"With a view like this, I don't think I'd want to sleep much."

His voice was husky, emulating the cover that the shades had brought into the room. It was so much different with no light, the darkness-even false, because she knew that the sun was still shining behind those Target curtains-revealing a timbre to the atmosphere that chilled her through layers of his clothing.

She could see the way that his eyes were darkening, could feel the air thicken like his voice had, the new texture like molasses. As she watched his eyes trace her features, connect and part, find her lips and her neck and her hands and her eyes, following every swell of her body, it wasn't the tension or fear that sparked her words, but the realization that she didn't have to be afraid, that she could have have this now without holding back, that consequently sprung nervousness within.

"Lunch?" She'd had to clear her throat before letting the words escape the desert of her vocals. That ten second gaze had her parched dry.

With a smirk on his face and a sparkle in his eye, he nodded once, slowly, before taking her hand to help her up.

It was odd, coming out of this darkened room to the sun streaming in through every other window in the condo. The light, paired with the stark whiteness of every other surface, had both of them squinting, craving the cover of darkness again. But she quickly found peace in standing side by side, putting together sandwiches-peanut butter and jelly for her, ham and cheese for him.

"Doesn't this feel _so_ much better than just downing a bag of chips and calling it a day?" she said between bites.

He nodded simply, his mouth stuffed and chewing. But the one thought that passed through his mind, amidst the tension and the awkwardness and everything that was still unresolved, was that he was _full_ in so many ways.

After general lunchtime jabs, she began clearing their plates, and-as he insisted-using the dishwasher this time.

"So...what do you wanna do?"

His words, in any other context, would come off as awkward, accompanied by similar body language where his arms were swinging back and forth and his right fist was meeting with opened left palm on each forward swing. As she finished putting the peanut butter back into his freshly stocked cabinets, a thought crossed her mind.

"Hey, here's an idea: What if I helped you unpack some of these boxes? Make this place look a little less…"

"Depressing? Desolate? Cave-manish?"

"As long as you're the one saying it," she giggled. "But in all seriousness, I don't have to help. It was just a suggestion. I know putting things away and setting up your place can be personal and-"

"No, I'd love your help." His smile was soft, kind. She followed his lead, each of them opening a box labeled KITCHEN and setting to work. She asked for his input first, not wanting to overstep boundaries, but was pleasantly surprised when he asked for her help, gladly accepting the logic of her organizing skills.

"I don't know, it just makes more sense to me if the pots and pans are next to the stove, and the plates and bowls are somewhere near where you prep the food."

"I totally get it," he replied, his outstretched arm reaching to put the last of his rarely used beer steins on the highest shelf. "This kitchen would have no flow without you, Beesly."

"Yeah, well, it would have no _food_ without me, either, so," she retorted, tucking the last of his coffee mugs away.

As his arm settled back to his side, his t-shirt covering back up the peek of skin by his waist, he realized how close they had been as they stocked his shelves when his arm brushed along her side and their skin whispered mere centimeters apart. The heat passed between their bodies, coming to pool where he let his fingers rest on her wrist, loosely circling around the skinny bones. The sudden urge to tug her against his body, to wrap his arms around her, to write all of his emotions on her skin tingled up and down his spine. The way her green eyes were darkening and her lips parted and she seemed to turn closer to him surged his inclination further, as he felt his fingers tightening around her wrist, the space between them closing, and his cell phone ringing in his pocket.

He chuckled, dragged one hand through his hair, and lifted his phone to his ear with the other, mumbling, " _Sorry_ ," as his sister's concerned voice filled his ears.

"Hey, is everything okay? Your text last night sounded kind of cryptic."

He was walking in slow circles, rolling his eyes dramatically when he faced Pam again, memories of a late night text to Larisa creeping into a day that had only existed in the sense of Pam.

"Uh, yeah, just uh, give me a sec. Everything's fine, I promise."

He watched her smile, edge out from around the kitchen counter, and disappear into the living room. He found his feet matching the spots where she just stood as soon as she was out of earshot.

"So, little sis, were you ever going to tell me that Pam showed up on my doorstep the day I moved out?"

He heard a gasp on the other end of the line before she spoke again.

"How did you- oh my god! Jim! Did she call you? Did you talk to her? Holy shit, Jimmy, is she _there_? Oh my god!"

" _That_ , my friend, is classified information that _traitors_ are not privy to," he chuckled as he leaned over the kitchen counter.

"Listen, I've gotta go, but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Holy shit, Jim, you'd better call me the _minute_ she leaves, do you hear me?!"

"Later, 'Rissa."

The smile stretched across his face, widening still as he entered the living room to see her back, her short stature almost at the same height of the stack of boxes she stood in front of. The sleeves of his black zip-up hoodie were bunched at her elbows, and he giggled silently each time he saw her nudge the sleeves back up. The bottom of the sweatshirt hit the crease where her knees began. he couldn't help himself as he slid his arms around her front and tucked his chin into her shoulder. She jumped in his arms, but in surprise, not rejection, as made evident by the chuckle in her voice and her whispered, "You scared me," as she set down the item she had dug out of the box.

Without turning, or moving much more than to hold her closer, he murmured, "I'm really glad you're here," into her ear, the words themselves competing for effect with the way his breath tickled her ear.

She latched her fingers around his forearm, holding on tightly as she leaned back into his embrace, whispering, "Me too."

"So," she began, finally cracking through a silence that he could have remained in all afternoon.

"So," he echoed, continuing to twist them softly back and forth, her body swaying along with his.

"It's a two and a half hour drive back to Scranton."

She felt his body fold against her back as the whisper escaped her lips. It was a subject they'd both been avoiding, knowing that an entire weekend together was equally an eternity and not quite enough time at all. She felt his breath sigh against her neck, felt his strong hands twist her around in his arms so that they were facing one another, hands clenched between them in the same way that they had on casino night. The silence continued, as they let their eyes really trace one another, really drink in just how desperately they were trying to hold onto this moment.

"I feel like you just got here," he finally said, his head bowing so that she could feel his moppy hair brush against her forehead as he shook his back and forth.

"I know," she whispered back, tugging on his hands to close the gap of space that the sunshine was streaming through.

"But," she continued, "I think...I think this time that we had, I think it was good. I think we needed to start airing all of this out, ya know?"

He nodded, squeezing her fingers in his grasp.

"And I think we still have a little ways to go, but...Jim, I want this to work. _God_ , do I want this to work. I don't want to keep dancing around one another."

Their breath mingled in the small amount of space between them, and she just couldn't take it anymore. Tilting her head and tugging his wrists forward, she captured his lips. A small squeak of surprise escaped her when his soft lips landed on hers, the heat immediate and searing and yet so tender. All at once, her fingers were climbing his chest, and his were rounding her back, and they were flush against each other, his mouth slanting across hers as she continued to stretch her fingers around to the back of his head, a tiny moan being swallowed in her throat. He was pressing her body to him with his strong hands splayed across her back, his lips moving slowly, tentatively. It was when she was tugging on his hair, those indistinguishable sounds vibrating against his lips, a hint of her tongue touching his bottom lip, that his hands were pulling her to her tiptoes, his tongue parting her willing lips, and tangling with the deliciousness of the reality that made him dizzy in the head.

As his tongue slid hot and wet against hers, she tried to pull herself closer, wanting to diminish any space between them entirely. One of her hands tugged the hair at the back of his head while she let her other clutch at his back, pushing their bodies hard together. His tongue was driving her wild as it explored her mouth, caressed her, spiked the temperature in her core with the thought of that tongue painting other parts of her body.

She was pulling away, her eyes lidded, lips swollen with his kisses. His own eyes, heavy with lust, matched the haze that covered hers, and he swooped back in for a searing kiss, his lips engulfing hers, his hands suddenly on either side of her face as he moved his lips tenderly, kiss after kiss, over hers. She was gripping onto his wrists, noticing that each message from his lips was becoming longer, slower, but each pause increasing, too. Finally, he rested his forehead against hers, still framing her face between his palms, her fingers hotly gripped on his wrists. With lips parted, and heavy breath mingling between them, their swollen lips upturned as the realization hit them that no one was running, no one was saying _I can't._

He was walking her to her car, but with promises of _Call me when you get home_ and _Drive safely_ and _I will_ singing sweetly in the air. She was letting go of his hands, but only to grip at the front of his t-shirt and pull his lips to hers in a quick kiss, one that turned into more as his hands found a home across her back and her fingers laced behind his neck.

She had MapQuest directions back to Scranton in the front seat of the car, but then his voice, rough and low, was saying, "Would it be alright if I come down to see you on Friday?" and she was saying, "Okay," without a second thought.

He was kissing her again, quickly this time, and stealing another peck on the cheek through the window of her car, as she drove off wearing clothing that half belonged to him.

He was watching her car peek over the horizon, but this time with the knowledge and hope that she wasn't running _from_ him this time, but _to_ him.

He didn't dial his sister's number until he was sure that her car was headed towards the highway.

"I want _all_ of the details, big brother!"

"Alright, I'll start at the beginning…"

The smile hadn't dissipated the entire car ride long. It was late Sunday afternoon, so the traffic on 287 westbound wasn't terrible. For the few times she'd spent at a slower pace than with the flow of traffic, she wasn't bothered. Her fingers kept finding their way to her lips, touching the tingling skin that was still haunted deliciously by his kisses.

Her phone rang when she was forty-five minutes from home. It was a simple, "Just making sure you're safe," but her heart was soaring more, if that was even possible.

"Well, I _was_ drag racing with this biker gang across the New York strip, but they quit halfway through. Couldn't keep up with me, I guess."

He chuckled then, letting it drift off into, "I'll let you go. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You probably shouldn't be on the phone while driving anyway."

"Kay," was all she'd said as she let the phone sit in her lap for 10 more minutes of silence. He was on speaker anyway; they weren't hurting anybody.

She heard him turn on a game in the background; he heard her radio playing top forties charts, and grinned as she quietly sang along. When her battery was about to die, she said she'd call him when she got home, and she had barely put the car in park before she was dialing his number again.

"Hey." His voice sounded like sandpaper, but it made her toes tingle at the thought of him sleeping on that couch, his chocolate hair mussed, his eyes blinking open when his cell phone had vibrated on his stomach.

"I made it back, safe and sound," she breathed, her voice small but twinkling.

"Good," he replied, the joy unmasked in his quietness.

Once they had hung up and she'd put her key in the lock of building she hadn't entered in what seemed like an eternity, it hit her suddenly that she wouldn't be spending the night wrapped in his arms, wouldn't awaken in the morning to his scent flooding her nostrils. But as she dug through her purse to find her cell phone charger, she noticed a bundle of cotton wrapped on top, the name HALPERT peeking through the folds. As she unwrapped the shirt, she realized that this one might actually fit her, the rattiness of the stickers giving away its age. The faded name Evans and Sons covered the front, and although, as she deduced, this was probably an old little league shirt, it still stopped mid thigh on her.

She closed her eyes that night with her nose buried in his t-shirt and a smile etched into her cheeks.


	31. Chapter 31

The only issue she could find with seeing him on Friday was that Friday was still five days away. It was the first time in her life that she'd ever used and abused communicative technology to this degree.

And the duties of her day job were literally answering phones and entering data on a computer.

Monday evening, her cell was ringing before she had even made it through the front door.

"So what's on the menu tonight, Beesly?"

She hadn't even gotten her shoes off, but with one heel in her hand, she made her way to the fridge.

"At the moment? It looks like either leftovers from last week that I should _actually_ probably just toss out, a Healthy Choice chicken meal, or…" He heard cabinet doors opening and closing as she rummaged around her kitchen. "...a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Ugh. I might just order in. What about you?"

She removed her other shoe, balancing them on her fingers as she headed toward her bedroom, but pausing before she made it down the hallway.

"Hey, I'm gonna put you down for a second. I'll be right back."

"Running away with the pizza guy, Beesly? And here I was holding you to a much higher respect!"

"Right, like running away with the paper salesman?"

He heard her smirk, envisioned those lips curling sideways as he rifled through his own cabinets that were now healthily stocked thanks to her careful choosing.

"Exactly," he chuckled.

"But, to answer your question, I have to pee, and I'm not about to take you with me to do that."

"Good call."

He chuckled, listening to the clank of the plastic against the countertop, heard muffled sounds that he assumed were her footsteps, and turned his own phone to speaker as he boiled a pot of water. Close to ten minutes later, he heard her voice again.

"Macaroni and cheese or frozen pizza?"

"How do you _do_ that?"

"You realize that I'm the one who stocked your kitchen, right?"

"Touche. So, did you fall in? I was starting to get worried there."

He beamed at her nervous laughter, stirring the pot atop his stove. "No. I um, wanted to change out of my work clothes, too. Freshen up a bit before I got all ready for my hot date on the couch."

She lingered in the silence, not wanting _I didn't think having you in the same room while I stripped naked would be a good idea_ to wiggle off her tongue just yet.

"So. Macaroni and cheese or frozen pizza?"

"You caught me. Mac and cheese tonight."

His pasta was ready around the same time she'd called it quits and placed an order for a pizza, and they'd made it through Jeopardy together before her doorbell was ringing.

"Hold that thought, food is here." She'd been on the verge of setting down the phone when he cut her off at the tongue.

"Wait, wait, wait. Bring me with you. I don't need some teenaged pizza freak trying to poach on my territory."

Her reaction split between a chuckle and a momentary lapse in breathing.

"Oh, your territory, huh?"

"Yep."

She noticed the change in his breathing, the husk to his voice, and the fact that his tone was suddenly twelve octaves lower. He waited patiently as she paid for the pizza, only barely registering that the delivery driver was actually a woman.

"And by 'your territory,' I'm assuming you're talking about the extra order of breadsticks, right?"

"Not in the slightest, Beesly. Talkin' about the woman carrying them."

It took everything in her power not to drop her dinner to the carpet.

Tuesday evening was her watercolors class, but her phone was glued to her ear on both the drive up and back.

"I _promise_ you, Pam. I am being one- _hundred_ percent serious!"

"So you guys actually play Call of Duty in the middle of the work day?!"

"Absolutely. Although I'm actually _really_ terrible at it. Today, Andy-"

"That's the guy who calls you Big Tuna, right?"

"The very same. Anyway, he got so mad that I blew our cover in a match-up today that he turned around and flung his cup of paper clips at me."

"He did not!"

"He _did_. I probably still have some buried somewhere in my hair."

Though she was supposed to be experimenting with different shades tonight, her thoughts couldn't be pulled from threading her fingertips into his hair and untangling paperclips from long locks.

Wednesday, he kept her company as she worked on an assignment.

"I'm just saying, it would be easier to give you my opinion if I could actually _see_ what you were painting."

She chuckled, shifting her cell to her other shoulder as she added strokes in differing shades of blue to her paper.

"What? My descriptions aren't good enough?"

"I never said that! Don't get me wrong, I don't doubt your abilities. But 'right now, it's just a lot of blues, and when I get the background right, it'll be the Pacific Ocean' would _look_ so much better than it sounds."

"I guess you'll have to wait to see it until this weekend."

He paused, and the next time his voice broke through the phone waves, it was deeper, richer than before.

"Or, maybe we head to Best Buy and get a couple webcams this weekend."

Something in his tone, in the way that it had been new and gruff in these past few days, made her toes tingle and her fingers ache to tangle in his hair.

"Wow, Halpert. You've taken me on _one_ date and al _ready_ you're showing me your kinky side?"

For once in the past several months, he was grateful for the distance between them, feeling the flush and the heat in his cheeks at her words.

"N- Pam, no, I...to _see_ you, like, your face, when..to talk-"

"Jim!" He knew her laughter was at his expense, but it was all worth it to let the sudden tension slip from his body, and he turned his bottom on the couch as he propped his feet on the armrest opposite his head.

"C'mon. That was too easy. There's no way I was about to pass up that opportunity."

She heard him shifting, heard his breathy laughter.

"But, seriously, webcams might not be a bad idea. This _not being able to see your for a whole week_ crap kind of sucks."

"Yeah. Yeah, I, uh...can't disagree with you there, Pam."

The rest of the conversation hung in silence that was only broken by breathing, the background matter of his TV, and her occasional _Humph'_ s and _Oh'_ s! and all of the adorable sounds that she made when she got into the zone of creating.

They weren't talking, really, but it was the comfortableness of just being there that had him more than content.

Thursday evening, she muted the sound on her computer during her multimedia class and minimized the AOL chat window behind Photoshop so that she could talk to him while her professor was observing other students.

 **JHalp18:** hey

 **JHalp18:** hey pam

 **JHalp18:** pam

 **JHalp18:** paaaaaaammmmmm

 **ARTsly24:** omg! yes jim?

 **JHalp18:** watcha doin?

 **ARTsly24:** lol. dork! im working on a logo design.

 **JHalp18** : oo fun. for what?

 **ARTsly24** : technically speaking, its a mock up for a new ice cream company. literally speaking, so that i can pass this class and not have to take it over.

 **JHalp18** : that sounds moderately boring.

 **JHalp18** : now i want ice cream

 **JHalp18** : this is your fault

 **JHalp18** : as punishment, you should have to bring me ice cream

 **JHalp18** : i will accept rocky road or chocolate chip cookie dough

 **JHalp18** : thank you in advance for your contribution to the james halpert hunger foundation

 **ARTsly24** : omg jim. you are relentless! youre going to get me in trouble!

 **JHalp18** : uhg. sorry.

 **JHalp18** : ill stop

 **JHalp18** : i just miss you

 _ **ARTsly24 is typing…**_

 **ARTsly24** : i miss you too.

 **ARTsly24** : but i get to see you tomorrow! :)

 **JHalp18** : i know, and im very excited :)

 **JHalp18** : i just wish i could see you sooner.

 **JHalp18** : hey, what if i took a half day and met you right for the end of the day? that way i dont show up at like nine oclock when youre already ready for bed

 **ARTsly24** : hey now! dont mock my tiredness. Its not my fault ive been up late every night this week ;)

 **ARTsly24** : but seriously. i dont expect you to take a half day, as wonderful as that sounds.

 **ARTsly24** : plus, with everyone at work bombarding you, id barely get to see you anyway.

 **ARTsly24** : ill just see you when you get here :)

 **ARTsly24** : but listen, class is about to wrap up, so ill talk to you later, okay?

 **JHalp18** : ok. text me so i know youre home please?

 **ARTsly24** : will do :)

 **ARTsly24** : bye jim

 **JHalp18** : bye pam

Tonight, it wasn't his voice through the phone that kept her up past midnight, but the way that she busied herself with tidying her apartment. She tried to remind herself that this was _just Jim_ , but as she vacuumed her bedroom at ten PM and scrubbed with yellow gloves at the bathtub close to eleven, her nerves were still squelching the excitement that she'd been packing all week.

Her shaking hands changed sheets on the bed that she knew would see little to none of her tonight, and her toes tapped as she started dusting the knick knacks on the shelves. She was halfway through a pot of calming tea that was having quite the opposite effect when her cell phone buzzed on the end table.

 _Jim_.

"Hello?" He heard the anxious nature in her tone and realized he'd been right to call her all along.

"Hi," he smiled, reaching his hand under the coolness of his pillow as he turned on his side.

"Not that I'm not totally ecstatic to hear your voice right now, but shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I could say the same to you, Beesly," he chuckled, and, "I couldn't sleep," a little quieter in her silence.

"So you called little ole me?"

"I sure did. Something told me you needed a little pick me up. What exactly are you doing awake at...one thirty in the morning, anyway?"

"Uhm...cleaning." She almost sounded embarrassed, and the image of Pam in raggedy clothes, a pair of yellow gloves, and her hair in a messy bun sitting cross-legged on her kitchen floor had him had him grinning from ear to ear.

"Cleaning? At one-thirty in the morning? And what, _dare I ask_ , has possessed you to do that?"

"Well, I don't know if you've heard, but I sort of have a house guest this weekend, and I'd _like_ to make the impression that I don't live in a dump."

His laughter warmed her, wrapping around her frazzled emotions like a cozy blanket.

He could hear the sigh breathe out of her body, and pictured the bags under her eyes. It was cute, really, that she was up cleaning for him. But as his own reasons for being awake so late pecked the backs of his eyes, he settled into his pillow and tried to ease her similarly wandering mind.

They had left one another last weekend on terms that promised hope. Hope that would, he believed, continue to blossom as soon as he jumped out of the car and into her arms tomorrow evening. They hadn't been like this yet, just _them_ , wholly ready to just _be_. And as excited as he was, he was also completely terrified. Knowing that she was awake and cleaning this early in the morning gave him the sneaking suspicion that she was feeling the same way.

"As the aforementioned guest, I am ordering you to put down the scrub brush and go to bed," he quipped. "Because the only details I'm going to be paying much attention to for the next seventy-two hours belong to you."

His voice trailed into a whisper only meant for her, and despite the heat in her bones that had built up from cleaning virtually every surface in her apartment, she was suddenly chilly.

"I wish you were here." She'd closed her eyes, wrapped her free arm around herself, and willed her words to touch him all those miles away.

"Me too. Get some sleep, okay?"

"Call me when you leave tomorrow?"

"Absolutely."

"Goodnight, Jim."

"Goodnight, Pam."

Although she thought that Friday would be a day of sitting on pins and needles in anticipation, Michael kept her moderately busy for a majority of the day. Something about branches closing and having to produce numbers from the past year had her diligently copying and binding and actually productive for the longest she could admit to in a while. She'd taken a quick break at lunch, only to tell Jim that she couldn't sit for their normal half hour and chat over sandwiches in the car; she was eating at her desk to, dare she say it, _work through lunch._ He'd heard the rumors, too. He understood.

She didn't even realize that it was nearing on five o'clock until her work line rang, jolting her from her concentration.

"Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam."

"Oh my god, Beesly. I don't know how to tell you this, but I think someone let the air out of your tires."

"What? God, this would be my luck-I'll be right there."

She hadn't bothered to grab her coat, hadn't bothered to tell Michael why she was running down the stairs, hadn't bothered to process the fact that it was Jim on the other end of the line until she found his tall, lanky body propped against the passenger side door of her little blue car. Her expression that had begun in anger knit into confusion, and finally spread into a smile that covered the miles from Stamford to Scranton as she ran across the parking lot, not at all hesitating before throwing her arms around his neck and meeting his lips halfway.

His strong hands cradled her cheeks, his thumbs brushing her bottom lip as he pulled away only long enough to breathe, "I couldn't wait," into her skin. The word, " _Good_ ," had barely escaped her lips before she pushed insistently on the back of his neck, kissing those five days of agony away. It was only when they began to hear the sounds of coworkers emptying into the parking lot that they split, only then realizing that, not only had they yet to define the relationship for them _selves_ , but that explaining why they were making out in the Dunder Mifflin parking lot to the likes of Michael Scott and company was nowhere near close to the top of the plans that they had for their weekend.

Although they had inched a respectable distance from one another, his stature made him an easy target, and no sooner was Kevin crossing the parking lot in a mad dash to side swipe him with a hug than several others were approaching him with mixed greetings, some similarly friendly, while others (namely, Dwight) scolded him for his traitorous actions.

And somewhere in the mix, despite his every intention to sweep Pam off her feet and spend from now until Sunday evening wrapped in her embrace, he found himself headed for a night out at Poor Richard's with the old gang.


	32. Chapter 32

"So, I guess I should have stuck with the old plan and just met you in the middle of the night, huh?"

"I don't wanna say I told you so, Halpert, but I'm _pretty_ sure something along the lines of _everyone at work will bombard you if you show up in the parking lot_ came up in conversation this week."

He sighed in defeat, grinning at her sideways as she giggled. He took her palm in his and brough the back of her hand to his lips.

"I don't want to sound selfish here, but I kind of wanted you all to myself this weekend," he mumbled into her skin.

"While I'm definitely in agreement, I don't mind sharing you for a few hours. And besides, I'm sure you've been _dying_ to catch up on all of Dwight's antics."

"God, Beesly, I thought you knew me better than that." He shook his head comically, and took the time between red light and green to drink her in. Something about the way the setting sun was reflecting off of her curls made her radiate the color of gold you'd only see in the lost city of Atlantis.

"Have you practiced your story?" she asked as they approached the door to the pub.

"Yup. In town visiting my parents, but they had last minute plans tonight, so I made a pit stop by Dunder Mifflin to see some of my old work buddies. Because _that_ sounds at _all_ logical."

"Have you met the people we work with? They'll eat it up," she giggled.

"Hey, c'mere for a sec." She noted with apprehension the change in his inflection as he pulled her by the wrist around the corner near the dumpsters.

"I just want one more second alone with you before I have to pretend you don't exist for a few hours," he said in response to her confused expression that he quickly covered with soft kisses. His hands cupped her chin, then snaked to her back, pulling their bodies together searingly. The small moan that she breathed against him did not escape his ears, and he had to pull away from her, had to stop himself before he threw her over his shoulder and brought her straight home.

"I'm going to head to the ladies room first. Meet you in there?"

Reveling in how flushed and smiley she was, he nodded with a sly grin and gave her hands a quick squeeze before holding the door open and heading to the bar.

He paid for the first round of pitchers, finding the Dunder Mifflin crew already pushing tables together. As much as he hated to admit it, he really did miss the camaraderie that this, his first _real_ job, had given him. With Michael at the center of the inappropriate jokes, Darryl and Kevin keeping him mildly entertained with the latest Sixers trade news, and the comical nature of how closely to Angela that Dwight was hovering, he had to smile contentedly. His grin widened more so, even, as he looked across the table and watched her fingers twisting the straw in her Malibu and pineapple, throwing her head back in laughter at something Phyllis had said.

He wasn't particularly drunk, but the healthy buzz that coursed through his veins only heightened the warmth that crept up his face every time he'd catch her looking at him, or she'd catch him looking at her from across the table.

It was in the way that she just seemed so much _freer_ than she'd ever been. She was laughing, enjoying herself, unafraid to return to the bartender when he'd given her the wrong drink. She was bold, willingly participating in the round of tequila shots that Creed had bought. He'd taken particular note that, in the past, she'd shied away, fearing belittlement from Roy. But now, she was having fun, winking at him across the table every now and then. When their party lined either side of the table to play a few rounds of Up Jenkins, Pam had taken the seat next to him, and while the quarter was being passed stealthily between fingers, she'd snaked her hand in his lap, resting high on his upper thigh and squeezing lightly. He bit back a groan, immediately lifting his beer to his mouth.

"Hey now," he whispered, covering his lips with his pint glass as he brought them to her ear, and covering the hand on his thigh with his other. "If you're trying to be stealthy in front of our coworkers, you're doing a _terrible_ job of it."

"Maybe I don't wanna be stealthy." He could hear in her voice that she was trying to be sexy, trying to entice him. But the giggles that melted her words only confirmed the suspicions that he was having as he turned to face her. By the haze in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks, and his quick mental recollection of the many different types of alcohol she'd consumed in the past few hours, she was pretty healthily drunk, and he made a note to keep an eye on her as the night wore on.

At one point or another, Kelly had put money in the jukebox for a round of nineties, girly, pop songs, and her squeal of delight as she threw her hands up on the dance floor had him laughing out loud, basking in the glow of her truly being _happy_. As the guys lingered back at the table nursing their beers, Ryan sidled up next to him.

"So, _she's_ definitely happy to see you."

"Who?" He played coy, bringing his glass of water to his lips to hid his grin.

"Don't play dumb with me, man. Pam. She totally has the hots for you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Whatever, dude."

Jim watched Ryan shake his head, order another beer, and head out onto the dance floor, sneaking his arms around Kelly's waist. Darryl and Kevin had found a TV with a game, and with the ladies, Michael, and Ryan on the dance floor, he took a minute to excuse himself to bathroom. What he wasn't expecting was to be forcibly pushed into the wall upon exiting, his hands still damp from where he'd only wiped them on his jeans.

She wasn't kissing him. Really, she was only holding him to the wall, her small hands balanced on his pecs as she glanced up, grinning at him through glassy eyes.

"Hi." Even on two letters, he could hear the aged slur in her voice.

"Hi yourself," he chuckled, steadying her swaying body with his hands on her waist. "Can I do something for you?"

"Well, you _could_ do a _lot_ of things for me, actually," she replied, the alcohol laden words not nearly as sexy as she was trying to make them sound, her fingers tripping clumsily across his chest.

In any other situation, he'd flip their positions and comply. But not like this. Not with drunk Pam literally using his body to hold herself up.

"You, Miss Beesly, are _so drunk_." Her pouting response only egged on his laughter. She stood and crossed her arms, losing her footing as she righted her body. He caught her, still laughing as he grasped her elbows.

"I am _not_."

"Oh, you _so_ are. Come on. I think that's enough for one night. Time to take you home."

With an arm wrapped protectively around her, they returned to the table to say their goodbyes.

As he grabbed their coats, and the girls around the table all exchangeing tipsy, over enthusiastic hugs, he shook hands with the men at the table, promising to stay in touch more than he had been, and to get Pam home safely before he "went to his parent's place."

On their way to his car, she stopped abruptly in his arms, and whined, "But I don't _wanna_ leave! I want to stay and have fun with my friends."

" _What_?" he said, exasperatingly. "Need I remind you that not _minutes_ ago, you were propositioning me outside the bathroom?"

"Oh. You're right. I was." With lips pursed, she cocked her gaze towards the dark night sky as if contemplating this idea. "Maybe we should go back in there, so I could prospo-propso- try to get in your pants again."

His eyes were pinched shut as laughter coarsed through him. He kissed her forehead sweetly, squeezing her to his side as he ushered her the rest of the way to the car.

He'd cracked the window at her request, and let his fingers soothingly rub at her shoulders while he drove. It was only a ten minute trip to her apartment, and he was glad that she'd given him her address earlier in the week, because her groans were a steady indication that she wouldn't be able to direct them there.

By the time they pulled into her driveway, she had nodded off against the doorframe. With his duffel bag situated on his shoulder and her keys dug out of her purse, he somehow made it through the front door in one trip, only stopping to remove his shoes and close the door behind them. It took some fumbling, but he figured out the light switches and eventually found her bedroom, laying her gently atop the comforter before gathering his bearings and deciding what to do next.

Eventually, he'd decided on gathering a garbage can, glass of water, and a ponytail holder before changing into, the pajamas he'd packed. Hovering at the foot of her bed, watching her sleep so peacefully, he toyed with the thought of helping her change, knowing she'd be uncomfortable sleeping in a pencil skirt and pantyhose. He hated the idea of rifling through her drawers, undressing her for the first time while she was less than conscious, but as she stirred on top of the mattress, he swallowed his pride and set to work.

Her pajamas, he was pleased to discover, were folded at the foot of her bed. Even more pleasing was that all they consisted of was his old little league t-shirt. Gathering the cotton between his fingers, he grinned, their scents mixed on a t-shirt that he had to assume she'd been wearing to bed all week.

Gently, he lifted her into a seated position by her hands.

"Alright, Beesly. We need to get you changed. Can you help me out a little bit here?" His voice was soothing, comforting to the pounding inside her head. She nodded limply, still half asleep, craving a pillow under her head more than anything.

"Okay." Taking a deep breath, he started with her shoes, taking each of her Keds off one by one and setting them on the floor. Next, he found the zipper to her skirt, closing his eyes and shaking his head before dragging it downward.

"You know, I kind of imagined undressing you for the first time a _little_ bit differently than this," he chuckled, trying to cover for the shakiness in his words.

"Mhm?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, for one, you'd actually be awake," he chuckled.

"Sorry. Tired. Kinda drunk," was all she could manage as he eased the skirt to the floor.

"It's okay. I'm not mad."

He set to work on the buttons of her shirt, trying to quell his desire as his fingers grazed her breasts. The top of her head was propped against his chest, and he could feel her move up and down slightly as she breathed. Pushing the shirt off her shoulders, it joined the rest of her clothing on the floor. He was easing the t-shirt over her head when her muffled words warmed the front of his own shirt.

"What was that?"

"Bra. Off. I hate sleeping in bras."

His eyes found the ceiling as nervous laughter filled him once again.

"Don't worry. You can do this again when I'm conscious. Promise."

Her lips moved against his chest, and as his fingers lingered at the clasp on her back, he pulled her tightly to him, his kiss lingering on the top of her head. He kept their bodies pressed tightly together as he unhooked and discarded her bra, doing his best not to notice the way it was trimmed with black lace, or to glance past the top of her head. As he edged the fabric of his t-shirt over her head, she mumbled, "You can look, Halpert. Geez, you don't have to be such a prude."

With eyes still closed, she looked like she was asleep sitting up-which she more or less was.

"How 'bout this? I _don't_ look now, but at a later date and time, I'll look for as long as you want to," he chuckled, pulling the hem of the shirt past her thighs so that he didn't run into this conversation while he removed her pantyhose.

"Sounds good," she mumbled as her head dropped back to her pillow. He pretended not to notice the silky, lacy feeling against his fingertips as he eased the nylon from her hips to the floor.

Placing a tender kiss at her temple, he muttered, "I'm just gonna go grab a few things. I'll be right back, okay? Garbage can is right next to you if you need it."

He felt her subtle nod against his lips and returned to the entryway of her apartment, double checking locks and shutting off lights before returning to her bedroom. He granted himself a minute to just watch her sleeping, curled in a fetal position away from him with her hands tucked under her cheek. After shutting off the lights, he gathered her curls gently behind her head and fastened the ponytail at the base of her head. Just in case.

She woke up twice in the middle of the night to puke. The first, she barely registered. He'd been lucky that he felt her stirring uncomfortably against him; the garbage can was at her chin a split second before she'd puked on the floor. After he'd emptied the garbage can and helped her to sip at the glass of water, she'd snuggled to his chest for a few more hours before waking more consciously. This time, he'd eventually gotten her to the bathroom, rubbing her back soothingly as the evidence of her fun night out burned in her throat. When she was about as spent as she thought she could be, she relaxed between his legs with her back against his front, her head tipped back on his shoulder as he stroked her arms.

"Just to clarify, this is _not_ how I imagined tonight panning out," she sighed, her words hoarse and scratchy. She felt his light laughter vibrate against her back, felt his lips somewhere in her hair.

"'S okay," he muttered. "We've got the rest of our lives to get it right."

She exhaled contentedly, shifting more deeply into his embrace, the smile

"Yeah. We do."


	33. Chapter 33

She awoke in her own bed, wrapped in her own sheets, in a brand new t-shirt that was _not_ her own. As memories of the night before flooded her already pulsing head, she realized that Jim was nowhere to be found.

Squinting into the shaded room that was still too bright for her Saturday morning hangover, she gathered the sights of her bedroom. Her work clothes from yesterday were folded neatly at the foot of her bed. On the bedside table nearest her sat a full glass of water with a Post-It labeled _Drink Me!_ and a bottle of Pepto Bismol labeled _Swallow Me! (that's what she said. Hee hee)._ On the other side of the bed, she saw his duffel, tucked against his side- _his side, wow._ His side of the bed was still appropriately befuddled, and she closed her eyes, rolling to the pillow he'd used and inhaling his scent for a few moments before trying her hand at actually getting out of bed.

It took several tries of sitting up, feeling too dizzy, and laying back down before she was able to sip at the glass of water. Just the smell of the Pepto made her gag. She'd save that for later. Eventually, her socked feet hit the carpet, and she took slow, tentative steps toward the faint noises coming from the kitchen. As she rounded the corner, she realized that not waking up with his arms around her wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Especially when it meant that he was standing shirtless in her kitchen, turning eggs over in a hot pan.

That answered the question of _where did the shirt I'm wearing come from?_

It was a little strange; usually this script was flipped. Wasn't she supposed to be the one scantily clad and making _him_ breakfast? Still, it was fun to linger at the end of the hallway, watching him work silently. So _this_ was how the opposite sex played. She could definitely get used to this game.

It was adorable, really, the way he shimmied around the kitchen, cracking eggs and managing the toaster simultaneously. If she listened closely enough, she could just make out the tuneless melody that he was humming. It was the giggle that gave her away.

But to her defense, he _was_ quite literallyshaking his butt as he glided across her kitchen tiles.

Without so much as a shift in his chin so words could travel over his shoulder rather than into the steam of his cooking, he mouthed, "Oh, do I have an audience?" and continued sashaying while he seamlessly moved the pan of eggs to a quiet burner and twirled to where she stood watching.

WIthout warning, his hands were around her, one at her waist and one clasping her tiny palm, as he did his best, albeit less than perfect, waltz impression, twirling her the short distance from the hallway into the kitchen. Her smile gapped the distance from the Pacific to the Atlantic, eyes fighting whether to stay open and bask in the glow of his matching expression, or to close and cement this into forever. Eventually, she gave into her other senses to do the memory making for her. It was the feel of his bare skin underneath her cheek as he pulled her close, his pulse quickening beneath her smile; the smell of toast and eggs, of spice and Sam Adams and something else that was inherently _Jim_ pulsing in her sinuses; the sound of his off key hums vibrating in her ears and against her cheek; the taste of chapped skin and Listerine and a hint of stolen orange juice when his lips moved slowly and chastely against hers.

"Good morning." His voice was rough, despite the seemingly thorough vocal warmup that she had heard.

"Good morning yourself." She finally peeled her eyes open, but just to catch her bearings as dizziness made itself more present. "As much as I love this little ditty you've got going here, if you don't stop spinning me, I think I'm going to throw up.

He paused, pulling her tightly against him as he muttered, "Such a lightweight" into her hair, leaving a kiss in place of his words as he walked her backwards to a chair at the kitchen table. She was left in a state of observation for a little while longer as he finished with the eggs, transferred them to a plate that he must have found in her cabinet before she'd stumbled upon the kitchen, and moved everything to the table. Her lips tugged upwards when she saw yellow fluff situated into a smiley face on the plate in front of her.

"Wow, pulling out all the stops this morning, are we?"

"You could say that."

She'd never thought that she could love his sideways grin more, but in the morning light, sitting across from her at the kitchen table after he had made her breakfast, the morning after a night of caretaking, that soft smile exterminated the goosebumps that her near bare skin had been riddled with in the chill morning air.

The air here hung so much differently than it did when she'd shared mornings and meals with Roy. With Roy, something was always wrong. The toast was burnt or the eggs were overcooked, or he _Just wanted cereal today_ after she'd gone to all the trouble. With Jim it was just _easy._ Even in the silence, as he moved to the fridge for more orange juice, she found herself resting her cheek in her palm, watching as the muscles in his bare back stretched and pulled when he opened and closed the door.

"What?" he smiled, returning to the seat across from her.

She shrugged. "Nothing. Just staring."

"Staring?" he queried, taking a hearty slug from his juice glass.

"Yup. Just making sure this is all still real."

His lips spanned the rim of the glass before he could set it down, scoot his chair around to her side of the table, and catch her lips with his own.

Dizziness, now emanating from the buzz of his lips on hers, pulsed in her veins.

"Yup. Definitely real."

* * *

Later that afternoon, they mulled around the aisles of Best Buy hand in hand. She found his arms around her waist from behind and his head snuck into her shoulder as she balanced two different web cameras between her hands.

"Anything good?"

"I don't know," she replied. "I'm trying to decide if I want to see you in high def or not. It's a little pricier for the extra pixels. What do you think?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I find a lesser quality to be more intriguing."

He buried his nose below her ear and kissed her throat lightly.

"Oh? Care to elaborate?" She hadn't so much as budged in his arms, mulling over the two options intently as he squeezed her more tightly in the middle of the aisle.

"I don't know. It leaves me wondering what's missing. I have to focus a little more, use my imagination…"

As his words wandered away, his lips picked up where they left off, finding the skin on her neck as it finally clicked in her head.

"James Halpert! You stop that! We are in _public_!"

She twisted against the shaking laughter in his chest, hitting him square with one of the boxes as she turned to face him.

His hands caught her at the elbows, an attempt to wipe the furrowed pout from her face in the seriousness of the words that were still laced in laughter.

"Let's do the high-def ones. They look like they'll last longer anyway. Plus, it'll be like you're actually in the room with me instead of so far away."

Her features softened almost immediately, pout unfolding into a smile as she cocked her head at him, as if to say _Could you be any more perfect?_

Their bubble was popped by the call of his name, _Jimmy?!_ from an aisle over.

Pam saw its source before he did.

It was her.

That girl from the porch.

The last she'd actually seen of his old place with Mark before her world began to fall apart.

His touch had disappeared, hands flying to the back of his head, a nervous tick of his, when the woman approached them, throwing her arms around his awkward disposition.

"I didn't know you were going to be in town this weekend! God, mom and dad never tell me anything!"

 _Mom and dad._

So, she _was_ his sister.

Before he could answer, she was turning towards Pam, a friendly hand outstretched.

"So, we haven't _officially_ officially met. I'm Larisa. This bonehead's sister. You must be Pam" She cocked her head towards a reddening Jim as Pam took her hand and muttered a nervous _Hi._

"Are you guys coming to mom and dad's for lunch tomorrow?"

"Uh, mom and dad kind of don't know I'm here this weekend, 'Riss."

His eyes shifted towards Pam once before hitting the blue carpet of the electronics store. Larisa's eyes widened, her smile sly as she realized what her brother was hinting at.

"Oh, I see. Well. Pete and Tom are coming in for the day. Everyone'll be here. You should totally stop by. I'm sure they'd love to see their precious baby boy, since he lives across the country now. And I'll bet they're _dying_ to meet you, Pam."

"Um, we'll see," Jim mumbled, wishing to be anywhere _but_ here. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"New Killers album, dude," she replied, flashing the plastic case."

"Aww, man, I forgot that was out!"

"Yeah, and I'd be willing to burn you a copy, too. You can pick it up at mom and dad's when you stop by tomorrow." Flashing a smile, she turned to head towards the register, waving the album over her head.

"It was nice to meet you, Pam! See you guys later!"

Jim let out a long, low breath, clapping a closed fist into an open palm a few times before making eye contact with Pam.

"Well that was…."

"Larisa," he chuckled. "That, Pam, was Larisa for you. Awkward and pushy at its finest!"

He put his arm around her, pulling her to his side and kissing the top of her head. They waited until Larisa was safely through the checkout line before making their purchases.

"We don't have to go tomorrow, you know," he started once they were back on the highway. "To my parent's, I mean. I wasn't planning on it. It was shit dumb luck that she happened to see us in the store. I mean, my parents don't even know I'm in town. I-"

"Jim!" she giggled. "Take a breath."

"Sorry. I just… I wanted this weekend to be just us, you know? And I don't want to put any pressure on you to like, meet my entire family out of the blue. We don't have to go."

She slid her hand into his palm and let him kiss the back of her hand as they turned back onto her road.

* * *

Later that night, after spending too much time primping in front of the mirror and going through outfit after outfit before settling on an off the shoulder little black dress that matched her big, loose curls, Pam found herself seated across the table from Jim at Capri; the shimmering lake out the window behind him held no candle to the smile he'd been wearing all night.

They were on a _date._

A _real date._

With no Roy's, no secrets, and no fear.

He did everything right, everything that a true gentleman should. He held doors, he chose the wine, he stood when she excused herself to the ladies room and again when she returned. He was charming and sweet, but most importantly, he was still her Jim.

When the couple four tables over began visually bickering, he scooted his chair next to hers, mimicking the voice of the woman as he made up reasons for their squabble. Without missing a beat, she took on the role of the man, and they carried on a conversation that had their entrees growing cold and her stomach twisting in laughter.

When the waiter approached them for dessert, their hands still clasped across the table, she answered before he could open his mouth.

"Oh, no thank you. I have dessert at home."

So casual, like they planned for this and did it every night. _I have dessert at home._ He cocked an eyebrow, waiting until he had tucked his card into the billfold and the waiter walked away to say something.

"Dessert at home, Beesly? Do I want to know-"

"Dessert can sometimes _just_ mean _dessert_ , you dirty minded man," she said, shaking her head with a smile, her eyes never leaving his.

Not quite ready to head back to Scranton yet, he tugged her hand towards the water. As they drifted aimlessly, hand in hand, their footpaths intertwining along the shore, she began to think that his path wasn't as arbitrary as she had once assumed. Twenty toes played at the edge of the cement that was lightly lapped in water from the lake that had once haunted his dreams and ignited her initial spark of fear.

The air hung heavy with late autumn humidity and past regrets. They stilled in silence that was uncomfortably loud, unspoken words doing their best to come true.

"I wanted to tell you that night."

She didn't ask what night he was speaking of. She didn't have to. Instead, she gave him the time he needed, deserved to fill, time that she'd stolen out of cowardice for what the unknown held. She wasn't cold tonight. Despite the chill that skimmed off the water, her body was overcome by intense warmth.

"I knew then. Or, I'd known for a long time. Obviously." His clasped hands rested at the wrist on the metal barrier, his fingers moving animatedly while nerves pulsed out of their tips. His head shook on those last syllables, internally scolding himself as he tripped on a confession that she was already privy to, that she wouldn't judge him for. There was no reason to be nervous any longer.

"I don't know what it was about that night that made me suddenly think it would be the right time to tell you. But I took too long. And then, everything with Roy…"

His head shook as eyes found the water, the tiny waves seeming to encourage him, _Go on. She's all ears now._

"I guess I took it as a sign. If it was _meant to be_ , you wouldn't have gone back inside, and he wouldn't have set a wedding date and..I don't know. So I didn't go after you. My logic didn't make much sense back then"

"I knew."

It was his turn to listen, to absorb. There was an unspoken agreement between them that seemed to whisper _listen_ and _learn_ and _let go_.

"I saw it. It was written in your eyes." The water below that transfixed her gaze spoke with the same sad intensity, calm yet wavering as it wrecked against the concrete. "I think that's what made me...you know...pretend I was cold?"

Shining eyes followed her tilted head as she sought his reaction, her tone apprehensively comical.

"You _what_? God, Beesly, I didn't peg you for a liar."

His own words shook with nervous laughter, his fingers drumming against the metal as he shook his head back and forth as if to chide _Shame on you._

As laughter turned back to vapor and whispered out over the water, she continued in solemnity.

"I did. I lied. I pretended I didn't see you. Pretended that you couldn't _possibly_ have feelings for me. Pretended that I was cold. Because, truth be told, that jacket was pretty warm."

His nod sealed his approval, his gratitude for her candor, as the information processed in his mind.

"I was scared. Too scared to even think about the prospect of falling in love with you, or that you could even imagine falling in love with someone like me."

"Pam, what...someone like you?"

"You brought Katy."

His head hung low, and he let his forehead touch the curvy coolness of metal before speaking.

"So, when that thought even crossed my mind, that the look in your eyes was something...more...I reminded myself of who you were there with. That there was, just, no _way_ that you could feel something for me when you had _her_ to go home to."

Words seemed so irrelevant now as his fingers shifted around her cheeks, up into her hair, and around her back as he pressed her to his chest.

"You are so much _more_ than I could ever hope for, Pam. She doesn't even com _pare_ to you."

He pulled away, cradling her face in his palms again, the intensity of his stare burying itself inside her.

"God, Pam, you are...you are just _everything_."

When his lips crashed upon hers, it sealed the meaning of those words, made his truth evident. Her hands stole into his hair, pressing his kiss deeper, holding him close to her heart.

After minutes that seemed like days, he leaned his forehead on hers, his breath escaping through upturned lips as he brushed his thumbs over her bottom lip.

That lake would no longer hold negativity and fear over their heads. As they walked away, hand in hand, the water pulled in an opposite direction, carrying their worries with it.

Emotionally and physically drained once they'd returned from their forty-five minute ride, she changed back into nothing but underwear and his t-shirt that sufficiently covered her down to the knees. In fact, she realized, it covered more of her than the dress she'd just been wearing. He followed suit, donning his pajama pants and secretly relishing in the comfort of no longer wearing dress clothes.

"So, what were you thinking?" he queried when he met her in the kitchen.

"Well, I _did_ deprive you of dessert back at the restaurant, so I was thinking we could start there."

"Oh? Dessert?" He folded his arms over his chest with an eyebrow cocked, a smirk tugging playfully at his lips.

"Get your head out of the gutter, James. _Dessert_."

She didn't typically call him James, but she'd done it twice today. Both times in reprimanding tones. He was starting to debate acting out more often.

She'd buried herself mysteriously in the freezer, and as those words left her lips, a pint of ice cream appeared in each hand, one rocky road and one chocolate chip cookie dough.

"Just wanted to make my contribution to the James Halpert Hunger Foundation. I can write this off on my taxes, yes?"

He joined her in the tiny kitchen, his butt resting atop the kitchen table as she offered him a carton and a spoon. They sat side by side, her feet kicking freely in the open air as they hung off the table, while his feet remained flat on the floor. With a dollop of rocky road on her spoon, she tilted the cool metal towards him, misjudging her angle and hitting the tip of his nose with fudge.

"Hey! Watch it!" he laughed, trying to feign annoyance as he brought his unoccupied hand to wipe at his face. Her own hand was quickly there to stop him as she pushed up on the table to kiss the cold matter from his skin. Cocking his eyebrow, he picked up his own spoon, cookie dough chunks moistened to her cheek before she could reload her own utensil.

"Oh, we're going to play this game, huh?" she retorted, her eyebrows reaching her hairline as she failed to eliminate the giggles from her words.

His lips were on her skin, his tongue darting out to steal the lump of ice cream before he whispered, "We're absolutely about to play this game," punctuating his words with a chaste kiss before putting slow, heated distance between them. His eyes seemed to challenge _Your turn_ as he folded his arms across his chest.

She scooped another hunk of rocky road from her own container and brought it slowly to his mouth, teasing the cold metal at his bottom lip before letting the spoon dip to the side, the cool dairy slipping to the dip in his collar before he could capture the spoon in his mouth. Under hooded eyes, she peered up to find his hazy and waiting, wanting, as her lips closed over the delicate hollow. When her tongue curled between ice cream and skin, a sigh broke past lips that were still chilled from melting ice cream.

Her cocked eyebrow, despite the shakiness of her hands and thighs, beckoned, _Show me what you've got_ written into its creases.

Wasting no time, his spoon was loaded and at her lips quickly, but instead of dropping his ice cream right away, he teased the edge of the spoon back and forth against her lips, taunting her, begging her to try to go for it. She wouldn't budge, instead folding her lips inside, letting her eyes lock with his as the spoon wandered back and forth ever so delicately across her mouth.

Wordlessly, she caught his wrist in her fingers for balance while she scooted off the table and in between his legs. Taking the spoon from his grasp, she held his gaze as she drew the spoon seductively between her lips, watching his eyes grow in size as her tongue fluttered around the metal, licking it clean. Raising both eyebrows to the sky, his expression seemed to say _What?_ and _Why?_ and _Are you_ trying _to kill me?_

When she breathed, "Couldn't wait. I wanted a taste," fire ripped through his lungs in the form of an unabashed moan, and he captured her lips as spoons clattered to the floor, ice cream melting under fluorescence while he scooped her under her ass and stole away to the bedroom.

It was everything he had ever dreamed and yet nothing like he ever could have imagined..

Here she was.

Pam.

 _His_ Pam.

Lying beneath him in nothing but his t-shirt. Her curls were spread like a fan about the bedspread. Her lips spoke slyly, personifying the secret that they shared as he hovered above on his knees. Her eyes showed the hunger, the craving that her gut and her heart and her soul longed for, spoken in the tentative twitches of her fingers on his waist and at his shirt hem.

Pausing on his forearms, noses touched as their periphery became nothing but eyes, nothing but each other, a silent realization that this was nothing but _them_ , before desperation became lips hot on each other and echoing moans and hands roaming impatiently, trying to be everywhere all at once.

Hers were in his hair, spanning the taugt muscles in his back, running along his ass and squeezing him tightly to her. His tangled in her curls, caressed her cheek, tickled down her sides before pulling the hem of her shirt upward. As fingers brushed against satiny lace at her waistband, he wondered how many different ensembles like this she owned, recalling what he had felt the night before. But his thoughts only lingered briefly before she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, moaning, thrusting her hips into his touch. His mind scattered into obscurity when his fingers gained a brief impression of her arousal, so wet and yet he'd barely touched her.

He groaned, lips finding her neck as he trailed sloppy kisses along the column of her throat while his fingers sought to free her breasts. While he fumbled underneath her, tiny fingers were impatiently pushing his t-shirt up and his waistband down, and he pushed back onto his forearms to give her a hand, throwing his shirt over his head and toeing his pajama pants to the edge of the bed, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. He almost broke skin in her neck when she was suddenly grasping him, his dick hot and heavy in her hand. Those fingers, so delicate and dainty, were going to be his undoing.

He grunted, thrusting into her touch once, twice, before stilling her wrist with his own hand.

"Not that that doesn't feel so, _so good_ , but I'm not going to last very long if you keep on doing that."

His words were warm in her ear, and his tongue chased them, making sure the message was received loud and clear as he outlined her ear with its tip. Her own mewels and the loosened grip seemed to show that she understood.

Suddenly it was his hands on her breasts, her legs wrapping around his waist, her lips buried in his shoulder as he trailed wet kisses along the tops of the swells while his thumbs danced across her nipples. It wasn't until he drew her into his mouth, his tongue flicking and his lips sucking and the cool air hitting her taut skin as he switched his attention between each breast that she began grinding against him slowly, the ache between her thighs growing with each touch.

It was his name at her lips, that soft _Jim_ that pulled his attention away from pleasing her and touching her to look up, to see the way that her head was turned up and away, how her eyes were closed in pleasure, how her skin was flushed and prickled with sweat, how her fingers were simultaneously failing to hold on and clinging to his forearms like her life depended on it.

He knew in that moment that he'd never see a more beautiful sight in his lifetime.

Reaching between their bodies, he found her soaking in arousal, slick and ready for him. Her cries were muffled by his lips, soft and reassuring as he pushed her panties to the side and ran his first two fingers up and down her slit, taking just a moment to tease her and lube himself before pushing inside her folds. Her muscles were already beginning to pulse as he slid his fingers in and out, becoming acquainted with the feel of her. She dropped her head back to the pillows, but then pushed her forehead to his shoulder, leaving half hearted kisses on his collarbone.

It wasn't until he crooked his fingers inside her and found her clit with his thumb all in one swift motion that her already budding arousal flooded over, pulsing hungrily around his fingers as she cried out into the night.

It was the _Oh, fuck!_ that had him chuckling, doing his best to milk the most of her arousal with his fingers before he pulled out and found her cheek with his lips, her head having hit the pillows again as she attempted to steady her heart rate.

"A little mouthy there, Beesly?" he mumbled at the corner of her lips, his fingers hovering just outside of her now.

She could do nothing more but whimper, indolently thrusting at his hand before turning her head to find his eyes. They were pleading, but also whispering _I love you_ and _I want whatever you want_ and _I would wait for you forever_. But her heels were digging into him again, and her fingers were cradling his chin, and her tongue was hot and insistent in his mouth.

It was her hands that guided him to her already slick and waiting center as she impatiently shoved his boxers down, still coming down from a high she thought couldn't be topped. Though throbbing and wanting, he pulled his cock away slightly, paused just outside her entrance as he sought her eyes, his large hands cradling her face wholly. She nodded slightly, that whimper and the way she closed her eyes almost had him coming before he even began.

He dragged his cock along her slit once, the evidence of her last orgasm wet around him as he nudged her clit with his head. Twice more, and she was actually grunting, " _Fuck,_ Jim, please," and he was pushing his way slowly inside of her, doing his best to savor the feeling of her inch by inch.

Unsure of what depth would please her the most or what she was apt to handle, he continued to slide inside, judging by the grip that she had on his shoulders that he was more than okay to continue. When he was buried within her to the hilt, he ground his base against her clit, the feel of her muscles pulsing letting him know that she could and would come again.

Knowing that she was close, he settled on short, shallow strokes, doing his best to meet her thrusts and give her clit attention as he drew himself in and out. The way she writhed beneath him, clung to his back, raked her fingers across his skin had him feeling like a brand new man as he felt his own arousal begin to rip through him.

He reached his fingers between them, finding her swollen bud and circling around it quickly, matching his thrusts as he came undone, her name at his lips as his fingers continued to work until he felt her pulse around his own thrumming cock.

He collapsed on top of her, doing his best not to crush her, but wanting all the same to touch every part of her with every part of him. His forearms caged her body, his fingers limp on her cheeks, his own cheek resting in her neck, their legs still tangled as he began to soften inside of her. When he felt her stir, a twitch in her legs, he lifted his forehead enough to see her pretty eyes, still hazy, staring back at him.

"Hi," he whispered, not even trying to stop his lips from splitting his cheeks.

"Hi," she echoed. Her smile was different, almost drunk in the way her lips curled in no way, shape, or form. Her fingers were at his ears, lazily outlining their shape as she drank him in.

This was _Jim_ , hovering over her. _Jim_ pulling himself slowly out of her. _Jim_ leaving her completely exhausted yet craving his lips all over her body straight away.

He shifted onto his side, doing his best to keep as much contact with her body as possible. He pulled her to his chest, keeping his eyes trained on hers, brushing his lips to her forehead as he tried to calm the beat in his heart that solely stemmed from the fact that _That actually just happened!_

Neither could point out for sure who fell asleep first, but hours later, she awoke with her legs tangled and his body superbly wrapped around her, one arm coming around her torso all the way and ending with his hand on her stomach, while the other wrapped around her shoulder and tangled in her hair. She could feel him semi-hard against her thigh, and began to tickle her fingers against his chest and back where they lay. When he startled from his slumber, he squeezed her tighter first, and then found her lips dreamily, keeping his eyes closed.

While she enjoyed the feel of their lips moving drunkenly together, the way his tongue was stealing into her mouth and drinking her in lazily, she pulled away and scooted to put breathing room between them.

"I'm going to go grab a glass of water. Care to join me?"

She donned his t-shirt while he pulled his boxers back on, squinting when she turned the kitchen light on. They were both suddenly more awake, remembering the mess of ice cream that was now melty puddles brimming over soggy cardboard cartons. She giggled, both of her hands coming in front of her mouth like a little girl that had a secret, and he couldn't get enough of it.

"Wow, what a _waste_ of perfectly good ice cream," he chuckled, mimicking her actions as she topped her own carton and peeled the sticky spoon from the table.

"I don't think I'd necessarily call it a _waste_." Her tone was singsonged, her bed head curls bouncing as she tilted her head in his direction.

"No?"

"No. In fact, I'd say it was put to perfectly good use."

She wet a washcloth and wiped down the table, tossing the spoons in the sink as she offered him both ice cream cartons to put in the freezer and ignored his eyes.

Even with her back to him in her tiny kitchen, his heat was overbearing behind her, his cock hard against her back, his words gravelly in her ear as he muttered, "Is that so?"

She wound her hands above her head, into his hair as he pulled her hips against him, a growl filling his throat when she ground against him.

For the second time that night, he carried her to bed.

* * *

Although her bedroom was put together enough to actually have curtains, the morning light still peeked in through her window, peeling his eyelids open despite desperate attempts to stay asleep. But when hazy greens landed upon the woman wrapped so tightly against him, it was well worth the early wake up call.

Her skin was golden, the sheen reflecting from both the light and the love she'd been bathed in that morning. Her eyelids fluttered, and he knew that whatever she was dreaming, it was full of joy. Her lips were curled upwards against his side, her breath puffing softly at his bare chest.

His own stirring must have startled her, because all too soon, his private moment was suddenly evaporating, and he was caught red handed when her eyes began to blink open. Before she even had the chance to cross over into full consciousness, his lips were soft and still at her forehead.

"Good morning."

"Mmm, morning."

Their voices were still thick with sleep, and he realized that these were the moments he would come to treasure the most.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, his fingers trickling down her bare back, pausing at the dip in her hips.

"Wonderfully. Although I kept getting interrupted." Her words were slurred, as if she'd woken up still drunk. But, then, in a way, hadn't she?

"Oh. I'm sorry. How rude of me. I'm a terrible house guest," he mumbled into her hair as he began to kiss to crown of her head.

"Right? Never again. Take the toothbrush with you."

She giggled against his chest, the way she was pulling into his body so contradictory to her playful words.

It was in that moment, when she propped her chin against his chest, her smile a mile wide and her teeth front and center, that it all rushed back, from a thousand of his fantasies.

The texture of the air around them changed, became somehow lighter than just her presence alone had already made it. He reached his hand up cup her cheek, her smile stretching into his palm as he gently stroked her soft skin with his thumb. The words were already written on his lips, in the way they tugged to the side so wholly and genuinely. By the look in her eyes, in the way they grew and became misty, in the way her face softened and she reached for his forearm, she already knew what he was going to say. But still, he painted the words onto the canvas of their story.

"God, I am so in love with you."


	34. Chapter 34

He was truly starting to hate this game of _Interrupted by the Larisa_. In all the time since he had moved out of his parent's house, she hadn't contacted nearly as often as she had in the past two weeks combined. He tried his damndest to avoid the shrill ringing of his cell phone that was somewhere under his haphazardly tossed pants on the floor. He tried pulling closer to her lips, tried distracting her with kisses and a sly hand tickling down her side and cupping gently around her ass. While she'd sighed against his lips and his touch initially, she stalled his fingers before they were able to scoop any further.

"Will you answer it already?" she giggled against his cheek, resting her hands on his bare chest in show that she was calling his bluff. He pouted, bumping his forehead against hers for a brief moment before rolling over the top of her to retrieve the offending item. Seeing his sister's name on the caller ID only furthered the roll of his eyes.

"You really do know how to ruin a moment, don't you?" he asked. He perched on the edge of the bed, pulling his boxers on with one had as his sister blathered on. Something about being pantless and half hard while on the phone with his sister just felt wrong.

"Hey, I'm just following orders," she returned. He could see picture her free hand up in mock protest.

"Mom?"

"The one and only."

"And you told her I was in town because….?"

"Oh, come on, Jimmy. It came up in conversation. She asked who I was burning the CD for and I just…."

Rather than responding, he dropped his head into his free hand and ran his fingers through his already tousled hair. He turned his head sideways over his shoulder and offered Pam a sheepish smile and a shrug. He was only a little disappointed to see that one of his t-shirts had found its way over her torso.

"Listen, it's only for a couple of hours. We're not going to interrogate her. We just want to see you! We never get to see you anymore."

"And Pam being there is-"

"Just an added bonus." She smiled smugly, knowing it would transfer through the phone lines. "So, are you coming or what?"

Turning to face the wide eyed, golden curled woman behind him, he realized that _two_ women owned him.

"I'll see what I can do."

He pulled the phone away from his ear at the squeal that he saw coming from a mile away. When he clicked the phone shut, he fell back onto his pillow with a _flop_ , his large hands slipping slowly down his face before he felt her chin propped on his chest.

"We really don't have to go if you don't want to," he mumbled through his hands. Opening his fingers, he peeked down, expecting to find her eyes wary and nervous, expecting that look he'd seen so many times before, right before she'd bolted out the door.

But instead, she was smiling this sweet smile, with her chin resting on his chest and her fingers drumming softly across his skin.

"No. I want to go. I want to meet your family."

Furrowed eyebrows expressed his doubt, and no sooner was he about to express it than her fingers were cupping his cheek and her smile was stretching wider.

"Don't do that. Don't go all _dark Jim_ on me. I want this."

"You don't understand. My family is _going_ to corner you. The women will sandwich you onto a couch, interrogate you, show you all of my embarrassing baby pictures-"

"Sold!"

Despite the circumstances, he would never get over having her cheek pressed to his bare chest while her giggles emanated from her lungs.

"Seriously, you sure you wanna do this? I mean, we've only been...doing whatever _this_ is for, like, two weeks. I haven't even seen your cranky side yet, and you wanna meet my parents?"

"Well, for one, I'd like to think that you know me well enough to feed me chocolate and tuck me in when I'm cranky." She was relieved when he'd laughed, some of his tension beginning to settle. "And secondly, I'd like to think that whatever _this_ is, isn't some sort of fluke." He adjusted his position, sensing the serious tone in her words. "I...I want to do _this_ right, Jim. And besides, we're kind of starting in the middle, if you look at it the right way."

He pondered her claim, realizing that she wasn't wrong.

"So, we're doin' it?"

"Oh, Halpert, we're doin' it."

They were halfway to their destination before she realized that he'd said he loved her this morning, and she hadn't even said it back.

* * *

Standing on the front porch to the Halpert home, it was hard to tell who was feeling more nervous. Jim hadn't brought a girl home since freshman year of college, and not a month later, Lauren had cheated on him, making him swear off the family introduction until he was absolutely sure. On the other hand, Pam's mind was racing with their time spent apart. If Jim had talked to his mother _half_ as much as she had poured her heart out to hers, Kathryn Halpert knew a whole lot more about Pam Beesly than the other way around.

She wiped her hands on her skirt and gulped while Jim combed his fingers through his hair. With his free hand, he found her clammy fingers dangling between them and gave her a squeeze before opening the door. _We're in this together._

Before he could make it over the threshold of his childhood home, his legs were bound by two small bodies, "UNCA JIMMY!" resounding off the foyer ceiling.

"Woah, hey guys," he chuckled, ruffling the hair on the tops of the heads that clung to his knees. He trudged into the front hall with weights around his ankles, angling his head forward in a _Follow me, the party awaits_ fashion.

One by one, he peeled his nephews from his legs and assumed a catcher's position to squat in front of them.

"Hey guys, can you do me a _huge_ favor?" The wide eyes of the little boys hung on every low-toned word that passed his lips. "You see me friend Pam over there? She's kinda nervous because this is her first time at grandma and grandpa's house. Could you guys maybe be _extra_ nice to her today? Maybe you could give her the tour?"

She couldn't hear what he was saying to the little guys who couldn't be more than four or five and who shared the same brown moppy hair and wide eyes, but his mannerisms were what warmed her in the chill of the late autumn afternoon, spreading through her like the blood that circulated throughout her system. Their little heads nodded simultaneously, and suddenly, all six eyes were on her, and two tiny hands were on either side of her body.

"Hi Pan, my name's Tyler."

"I'm Logan. Nice to meet you, Pan."

She brushed off the mispronunciation of her name, finding it as adorable as Logan's untied shoes and the chocolate milk mustache under Tyler's nose.

"Unca Jimmy said that we have a very 'portant job."

"Oh, is that so?" She scrunched her eyebrows together, eyeing the boys as seriously as she could.

"Yep. We're gonna show you all around gramma and grampa's house."

The little voices trailed off, but the tiny hands remained gripped on either side of her as she went from standing nervous on the front porch to literally whisking around Jim's childhood home in a matter of minutes. As stories of superheroes and kindergarten bullies flanked her, she took stock of how homey this place truly was. Aside from the creepy clown photo in the front hallway, there was something about this place that just _clicked_.

While the boys chattered on, she picked up odds and ends. There was a shrine to the four Halpert children everywhere you looked, and an even more impressive ode to the three grandchildren around every corner. Jim's room, she was told, had been turned into a guest bedroom.

"But he lef' all'a his toys for us to play with!" Logan had said, only releasing Pam's hand to pick up a Matchbox car that could only be from the nineteen eighties.

Even beneath the race car tracks, the matching Batman sleeping bags, and Lego's, Jim still peeked through. He was there in the worn basketball that sat in the corner, in the little league trophies and ribbons and medals that still adorned scattered shelves on the walls. She took the opportunity while the boys were momentarily distracted by a loopty-loop Hot Wheels track to pan over the pictures that were still sporadically scattered on his dust covered shelf.

Many, she noticed, featured his family. She knew he had two brothers and a sister, but she'd only seen glimpses of their faces in the frames on his desk, and that had been ages ago. Here, she saw them in stages, from young children to awkward adolescents. She caught her tongue between her teeth in silent laughter when her eyes lay upon a photo of a young Jim making almost the exact same face, but holding a newborn baby Larisa in his lap. He couldn't have been more than four years old, but he looked so, _so_ excited to be a big brother. Before her thoughts were interrupted by tiny hands, she let them wander to years down the road and the grin he might have when that baby was his own.

Despite her preconceived notions that children hated her, these two boys took to her kindly, offering her a car to join their race, sharing laughs and reveling in the sound effects that she added to their game. They lingered only for a moment before the boys remembered their mission, and then it was all relaxed business.

As pudgy hands continued to lead her past doors and into rooms-"Except gramma and grandpa's room," Tyler had insisted, "We're not allowed in there"-her remaining senses were becoming acclimated to the sounds of male laughter and female chatter, the scents of fresh bread and homemade pasta sauce, the feel of pudgy hands squeezing her fingers as if their lives depended on it.

"Hey Pan?" Logan asked as the sounds of unfamiliar people became closer and her palms became increasingly wet once again.

"What's up, buddy?"

"Auntie Risa says you like my Unca Jim."

It wasn't a question, but she indulged the boy anyway, as he was suddenly stopping with his grip on her fingers remaining. Tyler had followed his cousin's lead, halting in his tracks. Sensing a more serious matter at hand, Pam mimicked Jim's earlier actions and squtted to eye level with the two boys.

"Well, she's right. I really do like your Uncle Jim. A whole lot. He's a pretty special guy. I think I might keep him around for awhile."

The boys nodded, offered her matching smiles, and then began to drag her into the kitchen.

"Gramma, grandpa!" Logan blurted, announcing their arrival. "This is Unca Jim's friend, Pan. She said she likes him a whole lot and that she wants to keep him."

Well.

Apparently ice breakers weren't going to be necessary.

The sight in the kitchen was quite the motley crue. Jim stood between one of his brothers and their father, beer paused at their lips upon the boys' intrusion. In the moment of awkward silence, while his mother turned from the large sauce pot on the stove and the eyes of the other women found her in the doorway, her hands were suddenly cold, and the boys darted to the comfort of more familiar adults, Tyler to his father, and Logan to Mrs. Halpert.

The older woman, whose entire body exuded _Mom_ , ruffled the hair of the little boy as a smile crept across her face. Although it appeared that her words were directed towards the little boy who was clutching her apron, it was clear that the rest of the room was meant to hear them.

"Well, I think I'd be a-okay if she did. Just as long as she brings him back here every once in a while."

She felt like she was back in high school, coming into freshman algebra five minutes late because she'd gone to the wrong classroom. All eyes were on her as she stood in the doorway. But now, it wasn't Johnny Pesky giving her the stink eye, or Stacey O'Donoghue chomping her gum and twirling her hair in disgust. No. The eyes on her were warm and inviting. She sought Jim's, his slow nod and smile making her lips creep up the sides of her face as she brought her fingers into the air to wiggle back and forth.

"Hi, everyone."

Lunch was, in a strange sense, normal.

Between the chatter of two little boys under five and the bickering of brothers across the table, Pam found herself surrounded by family and love. She even jumped in when the conversation wound its way to teasing Jim, earning her a wink from Mr. Halpert.

After volunteering to help with the dishes, she'd been the product of Jim's earlier predictions: sandwiched between his mother and sister on the couch while the "men" of the house wrestled with Tyler and Logan, their mothers looking on and rolling their eyes. It was nice, nursing a glass of wine with Jim's mom while he let his nephews tackle him to the ground. As she smiled widely at the gangly man rolling around on the ground, Kathryn Halpert's sugary voice tickled her ears.

"I can see it in your eyes, you know."

She was startled for a moment, the words whisper soft and almost unheard in the absolute rukus that was wrestling and yelling and laughter mixed with a football game on in the background. But once the words had settled in her brain, she turned slowly toward the woman who wore that same lopsided grin that she had come to treasure.

"Sorry?" was all she could say in response. Living in this moment, she just wanted to be sure that it was real.

"It's all in your eyes, dear. He told me a long time ago, even when you were still engaged to that Roy fella, that your eyes told a different story. He was right. It's all there. I see the same in him, about you."

Well now, her eyes were just full of liquid.

For several reasons, at that. It was all flooding back. Her time with Roy. Time wasted, when she could have been with Jim. Time that he'd spent talking to his mother about _her_ , about her eyes, about how he just _couldn't_ be wrong about her.

But then, it was all of those things that had piled up, that this woman had watched bury and destroy her son, and yet the look in her eyes was still so welcoming and comforting, and her eyes were as full of love as the man currently serving as a jungle gym.

She giggled.

A jungle _Jim_.

"I...I'm so sorry."

Her words held so many apologies. For hurting this woman's son. For rejection and denial, for lies and misguidance, for stubbornness and passivity. But most of all, for making Kathryn's son believe that she didn't love him.

Much like Kathryn's previous words, Pam's had gone unnoticed to all but the woman with whom she was having a secret conversation. Before the sentence had even punctuated, Kathryn's hand was clenched softly over Pam's.

"Oh, sweetheart. You have to stop being so down on yourself. You both walked the paths you did for a reason. And they got you here. I don't know about you, but I very much like that right now, you're _here_."

And that was truly it for her.

In the middle of the chatter and commotion, she knelt down on the floor next to a now stationary Jim and lay her head atop his shoulder. Without pause, he wound his arm around her waist and peeked down to meet her eyes, smiling that warm, crooked smile that she'd been surrounded by all afternoon. He snuck a kiss to the top of her head before the boys realized that they now had company, and "Pan" became the victim of tickle fighting until go-fish and mid-afternoon story time took precedence.

With a boy balanced on each of Pam's criss-crossed thighs while she read to them from a book that Logan had pulled from his backpack, Jim found himself looking on while he lingered at the side of his dad's armchair, sipping lightly at his beer.

"I like her," Dave Halpert said matter-of-factly. That's how Pop had always been. Short, sweet, and to the point. When Lauren had come home with him for Thanksgiving in college, he'd said, "Something's off about that girl," and Lauren had used that as a fueled excuse for her cheating. Jim thought that this was about as much of a stamp of approval as he was going to get, until, "I like her a lot, Jimmy. She seems right for you," swept into his ears.

His father stood, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and disappeared into the kitchn somewhere.

He had only intended that they stay for lunch, but as the afternoon sun was setting through the living room windows, and a distinctive lull settled over his family, Jim sighed as he let on that he had a long trip back to Stamford. He protested with his parents, who insisted that he stay the night, and the entire Halpert clan gathered by the front door for a ten minute long goodbye.

"Thank you, for everything," Pam whispered into Larisa's ear as the two women embraced (because apparently, in the Halpert household, you _hugged_ , but Pam didn't mind).

"For what?" she smiled. "This was all you two."

Pam shook her head and knelt to tie her shoes. As she was about to right herself, she found herself being tackled by two tiny humans.

"Pan, are you gonna come play with us again?" Logan asked as he forced her into a sitting position, stroking her hair like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing.

"Only if you'll let me," she smiled back.

"Hey, wait! If you're Pan, like Peter Pan, that means you never have to grow up! You could stay here forever."

She glanced up at the people surrounding her, at the genuine love surrounding her in this home and in this moment. Grasping the boy by the shoulders, she smiled widely.

"I would want nothing more."

It was only a twelve minute drive across Scranton to get back to her apartment, but so much was washing over that it was almost overwhelming. His family had been so inviting, and she had fit right in from the start. Those tears of regret, of actually seeing what she'd been missing all this time, crept across her, but not for long. Because he could read her well enough to know that, even with her eyes looking out the window, she needed his hand in her hand.

It was one of the many things that she loved about him.

And then it hit her.

That morning, laying in bed with this wonderful man, she had heard the words _I'm in love with you._

Those words had been so different this time, yet still the same.

He wasn't desperate or reaching or clinging to a last shred of hope. But the passion, the meaning, the feeling were all the same.

And she hadn't said it back.

But sitting in that car, reminiscing over their perfect afternoon, she knew that it was true.

It was the way she'd watched him interacting with his family, but also the way that she fit in so seamlessly with their tight knit crew. There was a warmth that seemed to start in her heart and carry throughout her veins, giving her a pulsing life that had been dormant for so long.

The way his mother had embraced her and reassured her when she was sure that the woman held her in contempt.

The ease at which his nephews had taken to her, even though she'd sworn she wasn't so great with kids.

It was all bubbling out and over.

"I love you."

It wasn't at all how she'd imagined telling him.

It was blurted, each of the words running into one another like a morphed, mangled version of the phrase, while she'd pictured them running off her tongue as smoothly as the butter he'd put on her toast this morning.

She'd wanted to tell him in a moment of intimacy. Maybe over a candlelit dinner, or a walk in the park with the sun setting overhead. He'd already stolen _in the fresh morning light_ from her list, but it certainly wasn't out of the running. Instead, they were stopped at a red light on the way back from his parent's house, with a Rite-Aid and a homeless beggar out the passenger side window. And she was lucky they'd been stopped, because his foot had immediately jerked on the brake, sending them both taught against their seatbelts.

His eyes, wide as the bright red light, seared into her brain, almost begging her to repeat her bumbled admission, his stifled _Huh?_ almost as pitiful as the way she'd let the words tumble and tangle just moments before on the corner of Washington Ave.

Instead of using words, she cradled his cheek, grinning so widely that her face began to throb.

"I love you, Jim Halpert."

The air surrounding him would've carried him into the clouds if it weren't for the roof of his car. Lacking embarrassment for the way his eyes were instantly glassed, he covered her hand with his own and kissed her with as much fury and fervor and lovethat he had in the marrow of his bones. If it weren't for the impatient car behind him honking its horn at the change from red to green, he never would have let go.

They continued in silence, but not truly. The love that saturated the car was overbearing, but he was stuffed in a way that made him feel more alive than he'd ever been.

He'd barely put the car in park before he was lifting her off her toes, his lips simply assaulting her as she clung to his neck for dear life. He put her down only long enough to unlock the door, and even then, they'd only made it to the couch.

He hovered above her on his forearms, her fingers clinging to the collar of his shirt, lifting his head from her lips long enough to whisper, "Say it again," against her matching smile.

"I love you, Jim Halpert."

From there, it was giggles and sighs and laughter and _I love you_ 's before words became unnecessary.

Reluctance pulled at his feet while the rest of his naked body remained rooted to the couch with Pam sprawled and wound around him. His fingers combed through her curls as she kissed his bare chest intermittently.

"I feel kind of cheated," he muttered to the top of her head. At her response of furrowed eyebrows, he continued, "I mean, not that I don't _love_ my family, but I feel like I just got you and I already have to give you back again."

She nodded against his chest, pulling him tighter.

"It's almost like we reach these big milestones just to go back to being apart. I kind of hate it."

"I kind of hate it, too."

The silence blanket them for several passing moments before she came back through.

"At least we'll get to 'see' each other this week," she offered.

"I know," he sighed, trying his best to acknowledge her optimism. "That'll help."

"And I'll come see you on Friday?"

"You know I'd never turn down that offer."

It was kisses to stand up, kisses on every button as they helped each other dress, and kisses up against the door before she walked him outside.

But then, she realized, this goodbye was going to end with an I love you. And suddenly, saying goodbye wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Because when he said _I love you_ , his whole face lit up, and even though the setting sun had the sky growing dark, it didn't matter.

Because when she said _I love you, too_ and threw her arms around his neck, he suddenly felt like he could climb mountains.

And even though it was nearing on midnight by the time he had gotten home, and twenty minutes still while they figured out this whole webcam deal, it was all worth it to see _I love you_ tattooed on lips as they both drifted off to sleep.


	35. Chapter 35

While the webcams certainly made a world of difference, they were still practically a world away. But she couldn't complain. It was so great to see his face while he rambled on about the latest antics that Andy was pulling up in Stamford, to notice the way his expression lit up when he watched her paint. It was more comforting to watch _I love you_ 's trickle off his lips, absorbing the way they couldn't resist turning up, than simply hearing it over the phone.

They chatted online so often that she found a mold of her rear end taking form in the seat of her couch that was closest to an electrical outlet where her laptop was almost permanently plugged in. It was after work, when he was still in his dress clothes, but he'd gotten her into the habit of "bringing her with" while he changed. They shared dinners, sometimes on the couch to compare Jeopardy answers, but more often than not, actually sitting at the kitchen table, to make it feel more real.

He would watch her paint. She would make off-handed yet educated guesses about whatever game he was watching.

On Tuesday evening, their conversation was largely bound by the rumors of closing branches and mergers and more life altering choices than he'd picture happening in the course of a year.

"I guess it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, being transferred back," he'd said, shifting the fist that his chin rested on while he lay sprawled on his stomach atop his comforter. "We'd be in the same city, at least."

"The same _state_ , might I remind you." She was freshly home from her watercolors class, changing into one of his old t-shirts, but out of frame enough that he only caught her bare calves while she slipped it over her head. It made him chuckle with delight that she'd been writhing under him naked not days ago, but she stepped out of frame to change her clothes.

"It would certainly solve the dilemma I'm currently having."

She could hear the smile in his eyes before she turned around to see it unfurl.

"Oh? And what 'dilemma' would you be referring to?" She mimicked his position, lying on her stomach and facing him with her chin perched in cupped hands.

"The one where you're in Scranton, in nothing but my t-shirt, and I'm doing my best not to reach through this damned webcam to touch you."

He was using that voice, the one that chilled her spine and simultaneously made her hot everywhere. It was the voice that, not so long ago, she'd come to long for on a day at the office, because it was a tone reserved for their intimate moments when the rest of the world seemed to disappear, and they were enveloped in a bubble over reception, just she and Jim. Now, it was similar, but oh so different. The sultry way in which her lips curled up told him just so.

"Socks," she uttered simply.

"Hmm? I beg your pardon?"

With a flick of her ankles behind her head, he noticed the peek of one grey foot and one of sky blue. Despite the heated desire in her eyes, the fact that she mismatched her socks was downright adorable.

"I'm also wearing socks. Not just your t-shirt. Socks, too."

"My apologies," he said, clearing his throat. "Guess we'll just have to do away with those, too."

"And what about hypothermia?"

"I'm sure I can find a creative way to keep you warm."

* * *

"So, my buddy Jeff from college called me today," he began on Wednesday night while they virtually perched on one another's kitchen counters as dinner was prepared.

"Oh yeah?"

"He had a pretty interesting proposition." While she breaded pork chops, he described the sports marketing idea that he and his buddy had devised back in college at four in the morning over beers and textbooks that were being used as tables. Now, that pipe dream was actually on the verge of becoming a reality.

"The only drawback to the whole operation is that Jeff and all of the people invested want to set up shop in Philly."

"So...still, what, a two hour difference?" she asked, squinting her eyebrows together as she melted butter over the stovetop.

"Exactly," he sighed, throwing a pinch of salt into his boiling pot of water. "Same shit, different city."

"But would you be happier?"

"I would be happier if you were _actually_ sitting on my counter right now, considering how hard it is to hug plastic."

She chuckled, reaching out to touch his virtual face.

"Seriously, Jim. Would you be happier working in Philly than staying at Dunder Mifflin?"

"You see, that's where I have a bit of a problem." She nodded, waiting for him to continue while she flipped her sizzling dinner. "Philly has the job. Scranton has you."

He shrugged, offering a smile that said _I know that sounds cheesy and pathetic but I can't help it_ with downturned eyes.

She couldn't disagree, could only whisper, "Yeah. Sounds like quite the dilemma," before they went back to silent cooking.

* * *

"This is going to drive me insane," she laughed on Thursday night after returning home from class. They'd put on CSI to watch together, but his broadcast was a fraction of a second behind hers. Every time Grissom would present a piece of evidence in her living room, it would echo through the computer speakers seconds later.

In the midst of a balance of contented laughter and silence, she casually mentioned, "Hey, so my professor pulled me aside after class tonight."

"Oh yeah? Were you naughty? Did you have to stay back to improve your grade?" He exaggeratedly waggled his eyebrows and watched her eyes roll to the ceiling.

"Stop it," she scolded with a sardonic chuckle. "No, he actually wanted to talk about recommending me to a continuing art program. He said it would be good for me. That I should definitely go farther than community college."

All the while, she was fidgeting with the label on her beer bottle and forcing her gaze to drift everywhere but her computer screen. With Roy, it had always been _A waste of time_ and _We don't have the money_ and _Are you sure you want to spend all that time on a hobby?_

She was used to bracing herself for the sting of disappointment.

"Really? Pam, that's _awesome_."

But then, this was Jim.

And her eyes found his, a deep green that was beaming with pride as he sat up from his lounging position to smile and nod and pry for _more_ information.

She was still getting used to it.

"Mhm," she began, nodding her head slowly at first as a smile crept its way across her cheeks. "I thought it was kind of cool," she shrugged. "He must see something in me if he's recommending me to some fancy schmancy art school."

"He has no reason not to. You're _so, so good_ at what you do. And I'm not just saying that because you're cute."

And he wasn't.

He didn't say things just to appease her or to get her to shut up like Roy so often had. He was actually _involved_ in her art, asking questions about everything from color choice to brush choice, offering input when she asked and being content to watch when she was in a zone. Despite all of the crude jokes that could be made about their webcam purchase, he had been right about one thing: it was definitely easier to give his opinion when he could see what she was doing.

"So," he began when a commercial break left them at a cliffhanger, "where might this _fancy schmancy art school_ have fancy new Beesly flying off to? London? Paris? Tokyo?"

"Nah. Fancy schmancy art school is a little more local than that."

"What kind of local?"

"Philly local," she said with a smile.

* * *

Friday morning brought news of the Stamford shutdown, Josh's backstabbing move, and what should have been the light to start their weekend together: he was coming back to Scranton. But even as she called to say she was on her way and he tidied up his apartment for her impending arrival, there was still a strange, sinking feeling in his gut. His mind was arguing that he should be happy, but the weight was still dragging him down

"Dwight is _so_ excited to see you on Tuesday," she giggled against his chest late that same night as she traced circles against his bare skin. "He even decorated your desk clump as a 'welcome back' surprise."

His lips and eyes contorted in disgust.

"Ugh, _Beesly_. Why would you even do that? Do _not_ talk about Dwight when we're naked in bed. _Instant_ mood killer."

She fluttered against his chest, pulling herself tighter against his blatant attempts to shove her away.

When the silence settled over his darkened room and his breath chilled the top of her head, she propped her chin against his chest and furrowed her eyebrows together.

"Hey. What's goin' on up there tonight? You're not all here."

Twice in the same minute, a heaving sigh escaped him. She was right. He hadn't been all there. Not when he'd scooped her into his arms upon her arrival. Not while they'd cooked together for the first time, despite her best efforts to be flirty and dab his nose with pasta sauce. Not when they'd clinked their wine glasses across a candlelit table. Not while, over dinner, they'd decided that he would pack a suitcase and stay with Pam for the time being while he looked for a place of his own in Scranton, because they weren't quite ready to move in together just yet. Not even moments ago, when he'd been buried within her, the _God, I love you_ _'_ s that were groaned against her ear still absent of something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

He tightened his arms around her, honey curls pushing against his cheek.

"I just...I don't know, Pam. I don't...I don't know if I can do this."

It was all of her worst nightmares coming true.

He'd gotten a taste of who she really was outside of Dunder Mifflin and realized that it had all been in his head, a fluke of proximity popped when they had ventured outside the bubble.

She stiffened in the same moments that her head had snapped up, tears already welling in her green eyes, lips fixed to protest.

 _I'm sorry. Don't do this. My heart can't handle losing you again._

His brows wrinkled at her change in body language, but it only took him seconds to backtrack his words, sit up straight, and clutch her to his chest in a crushing embrace.

"Hey. Hey, oh my _god_ , not what I meant, _so_ not what I meant."

His hands engulfed the side of her face, bringing her nose tip to tip with his own as he tried to stop both of their bodies from shaking.

"This, _this_ right here, is _all_ I want. _All_ I want, Pam," he dictated matter-of-factly, his thumbs rubbing circles along her cheeks. No sooner were those words past his lips than he was kissing her crushingly, brusingly hard, wishing that their momentary lapse into misguidance could be erased by the fervor in his lips.

When he pulled away, her eyebrows pinched upward, her lips swollen but trying to form some semblance of a relieved grin. The grip that she had fastened on his forearms wasn't loosening, but he paid no mind.

"You had me worried for a second there, Halpert. I saw my life flash before my eyes." Her words were breathy with nervous chuckles, coming down from the rapid switch from _sadness_ to _fear_ to _panic_ to _reassurance_ to _kissing_ to _love_ to _Jim_.

Still fearing her doubt, his fingers hooked underneath her chin, pulling her gaze to his line of sight.

"Hey." His words, though whispered, weighed heavily in her ears, on her heart, touched all the way down to her toes. "You never have to worry about this, okay? Out of all the... _bullshit_ _,_ happening in my life right now, _this_ is what's keeping me grounded. _You_ are what's keeping it all together. Got it?"

Though her head still spun, she trusted his words, his touch, the intensity in his eyes. When he punctuated each word of his, "I _love_ you," she felt it in her core.

The silence absorbed them for quite some time, both craving the muted cocoon that was just breathing and being pressed against one another, gentle caresses reminding them that they were still awake.

"This is going to sound like a dumb question," she began, her fingers tickling lightly up and down his forearm, "like, a _really_ dumb question…"

He waited, his own hand stalling at the top of her bare shoulder.

"I...we keep saying _this_. Jim. What is _this_? I mean, we kind of just, like, catapulted into... _this_ , without really...talking about it?"

He nodded, her hair rubbing softly at his cheeks, before he turned her body in his arms so that they were eye to eye. She was biting her lip, avoiding his eyes, but he pulled her back to earth, back to him.

"Oh, _this_? This is it for me, Pam. What do you want out of this?"

It was so matter of fact. They were the only words he needed to say, the only ones that made sense, but he could see in her eyes that she needed him to press on, to elaborate if only for her benefit. He was about to make some big declaration, realizing that his life was an endless declaration of love for her, when she cut him off.

"What do I want?" She turned her head in thought for only a moment. "I want to see the way that you look like a deformed gremlin when you sleep."

"Huh?" was his only response, his expression contorting at the same moment that she was grinning and shifting on her back so that she could see him better.

"You said once that you look like a deformed gremlin when you sleep. I want to see that. Everyday, in fact." It was at that point, even as she continued, he realized that _she_ was the one making the huge declaration, and he watched in amazement as her smile grew larger with each and every confession that left her lips.

"I want to not feel bad that I'm calling you at eleven o'clock on a Friday to come eat ice cream and watch Boy Meets World with me. I want to not have to kick you out at three AM when the weird cartoons come on. I want to eat French toast with you on Saturday mornings and tag along with you to the gym and watch you get all sweaty while you play basketball. I want to wear your last name on my t-shirt while I watch you coach our kids on the court. Woah, I might have gone a little too far-"

But she wasn't.

And he was smiling, and his thumbs were on her cheeks, and his lips were moving faster than her brain could comprehend.

"Good answer?" she giggled when he finally pulled away, his hands still cradling her face, their noses pressed together at the tip.

"Absolutely."

In the late night hours, with his body wrapped positively from tip to toe around her, she finally asked, "So, what _were_ you talking about earlier? You can't _do_ _this_? What _this_ were you talking about?"

She felt his lungs push and pull against her as he sighed, his arms constricting around her body before he spoke.

"Dunder Mifflin. I don't think I can stay at Dunder Mifflin anymore."

She turned in his arms, resting her palm flat on his chest so that her eyes could give him the attention he deserved.

"I just...I'm not _going anywhere_. Sure, there's a promotion with this transfer, but what does that get me? More money? I'm still selling paper. I'm still _overseeing_ the sale of paper. God, Pam the only reason I'm not going to absolutely _dread_ going into work every day is because I'll get to look up and see you sitting five feet from my desk again. I just don't want to get ten, fifteen years down the road and realize that I could have been doing so much more than _paper_ _._ Or, you know, at least _enjoying_ myself."

She nodded, slowly absorbing his monologue as he poured the weight from his chest.

"And, like, not that I'm trying to say that I don't absolutely love working with you. I owe everything we have to this job. But, Pam, try to see where I'm coming from here. I-"

"I think you should do it."

His frown pressed her forward.

"Quit, Jim. Leave that god-forsaken place."

She was sitting upright now, pulling his sheet around her chest as she rested her back against the headboard.

"I mean, take a look at what's happening. For the first time in, I don't know, _years_ , you have a choice in front of you. You get to decide what's going to make you happy. If you don't want to sit and sell paper for the rest of your life, then _don't_."

By this point, he had joined her upright, his eyes wide as she spoke with more passion and fervor than he'd ever heard in that small, timid voice. She had changed, for sure, in the time they had spent apart. But he was beginning to see that it was change for the better.

"Hell, look at what happened with _us_. We got our second chance. _We_ made the choice to stop being miserable and just go after what we wanted. I think we finally realized that we get to choose our path going forward. Here's your chance, Jim. Choose Philly. Choose your happiness."

 _You are my happiness_ was the only thought that crossed his mind as her words danced around his head. Her happiness, he realized, was just as, if not more important. He knew that she didn't want to be a receptionist for the rest of her life. But now, life appeared to be wide open, and they were at the starting line. She could have her happy, too.

"Only if you come with me."

"What?"

"Hold on. Hear me out." It was his turn to be excited, and when he was excited, the animation couldn't hide from his expressions, which arched his eyebrows and pulled the corners of his lips crazy. "Pam, you said that design program is in Philly, right? Art school is in Philly, Jeff is in Philly. God, Pam, we could totally do this together. Kill the distance, and just finally be _happy_ for once."

Truthfully, the ideas had been piecing together like a puzzle all week. Her program was in Philly, and so was a new business opportunity for Jim. His branch was closing, which effectively gave him the out that he hadn't had the guts to take himself over the years. But all the while, she was keeping those dreams to herself, the years of practiced _Dreams are just that_ keeping her grounded.

It took only a moment to be reminded, as his fingers tickled her palm and squeezed her hand between his, that this was _Jim_. He _was_ her dream.

"Come on, Pam. You get to choose happiness, too. What better way than to do it together?"

Her smile was shy, nervous, reserved for that impending letdown that she had to keep reminding herself wasn't actually coming.

He was reserved, too, saving himself from years of heartbreak and disappointment, so he waited, keeping her hand between his, and letting out a breath of relief when she began to tentatively scoot towards him on her knees. He squeezed more tightly then, pulling her gently as her smile found his and she whispered, "So, Philly?" in a voice that tailed with happy laughter.

"Philly, Beesly," he nodded, running his thumb down the side of her cheek

The logistics of picking up and starting over were a lot smoother than they had originally anticipated. The two weeks notice that they each instilled at Dunder Mifflin lined up nicely with Thanksgiving, and they both had enough saved up to stay with parents in Scranton for the holiday season.

"I feel like I'm back in college," she mused, laying on her back in his lap with her head on his chest and his long legs cradling her body. They were in her parent's basement watching TV, the Beesly's having long since gone to bed. "I remember having a ridiculous amount of time off for winter break, and then the real world hit me and I almost cried when we didn't get two months off at the end of the year."

"Wow, spoiled much?" he chuckled, tightening his arms around her.

"Only by you," she replied, turning her head around to meet his lips for a quick kiss.

* * *

She was slated to start at the Art Institute at semester in January; her community professor had recommended her to a connection up in Philly and her portfolio was sent straight to the top. She'd be living on campus for the time being, working the check in desk at night for extra cash. Jim had picked up a job at a local bike shop and would be moving in with Jeff after the new year, knowing that starting up a business was costly and financially straining. Why not split the cost of rent while they were still starting out?

Christmas was full of family and friends and undeniable _love_. Pam was introduced to the Halpert Christmas Eve tradition of matching pajamas (elf footies this year, and Tyler and Logan had _insisted_ that she get a pair as well), and spent some quality time with Vanessa when the girls and boys were split up for the night. She shared a Barbie sleeping bag and painted nails and gossiped with Larisa long after the other Halpert women were asleep.

"God, my brothers looked like such _dorks_ in those pajamas," Larisa had chuckled, rolling onto her side to face Pam in the darkness of her bedroom.

"Absolutely. But, I have to admit, it was kind of adorable to see them with the hats and the shoes next to your mom who is like, five-foot-nothing."

"It was, wasn't it?"

Snickers echoed in the darkness, both women trying their hardest not to wake the sleepers around them.

"Hey, Pam?"

"Mhm?"

"I really like having you here. And not just because you make my brother happier than I've ever seen him in my entire _life_. You just fit right in. It's like you're already one of us."

She wanted to cry, wanted to reach out and throw her arms around his baby sister who was already becoming a fast friend. Instead, she beamed into the darkness and realized that it wasn't because of Santa that she couldn't sleep that night, but because she couldn't wait to see Jim when they woke up in the morning.

After his family's festivities, Jim was more than thrilled to find that the Beesly clan spent their Christmas Day doing nothing but eating leftover Christmas cookies, watching Christmas movies, and napping the day away. When they were halfway through National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation ("It just _isn_ _'_ _t Christmas_ if we don't watch this movie!"), Pam was ironically asleep against the arm of the couch while Mrs. Beesly had commandeered Penny to help her set up the iPod that WIll had given her that morning. In the lull of Chevy Chase stapling Christmas lights to the roof, Will Beesly spoke, not moving his eyes from the television set.

"I love my daughters Jim. Love 'em with all my heart."

He coughed, sputtered, "Uh, yeah, absolutely, Mr. Beesly. I totally see that."

"So when I see one of them falling in love, I usually find myself with protests and reservations. We never really _got_ Roy, so believe me when I say that Pam calling off that was a huge relief off my shoulders."

Jim wasn't sure where this conversation was going, and his nervous tics started twitching as his knee began to bounce erratically enough to not wake Pam and his hand started to steal to the back of his neck.

"Tell me why I don't feel that way about you, son."

The startled part of his brain wanted him to just say _Huh?_ but somehow he was able to string the syllables of the word _Pardon?_ together, taking the time to rest his hands back on his thighs and face the man who held his fate captive.

"I can't seem to find a bone in my body that doubts your intentions with my daughter. I'm just wondering why that is. I was hoping you could provide some insight."

"I...I really don't know what to say, Mr. Beesly. I've loved Pam for so long now, I just...loving her is only second to breathing because my brain needs the oxygen to survive." The subtle nervous chuckle that tailed his words curled the edges of the older man's lips just slightly as he reached for the remote.

"That's all I needed to hear."

While the movie droned on in the background, he reached softly to his left to wrap his fingers around her ankle, pulling her feet into his lap. He swore, as he looked down on her sleeping form, that he saw her lips curl up into a smile.

* * *

It was their first real Christmas together, but while they'd been surrounded by family and love for forty-eight hours, they felt deprived of time _alone_. Getting antsy, Jim had grabbed Pam's hand, his car keys, and taken off down the quiet, snow-dusted road. It was only an hour away, light Christmas music playing on the radio while they marveled at all of the Christmas lights, but it was him and it was her and it was wonderful.

* * *

They'd received several invitations to New Year's Eve parties. Mark was throwing a party at his old place, Larisa was going somewhere in Wilkes-Barre that she said they could tag along to, and even Michael had reached out, pleading almost, that they come to his condo for the evening.

He hadn't spared a second thought when she asked if he wanted to just stay in for the night.

Though surrounded by the boxes they had packed together for the rapidly approaching move to Philly, she still managed to set the ambiance with candles perched on countertops, a bottle of wine, and flannel pajama bottoms. They settled for a movie marathon that was poorly paid attention to between kisses and heavy petting, broken up only twice for attempted games of go fish. With ten minutes left to spare until the new year rang, he pulled her wordlessly to her feet, cradled her to his chest, and swayed softly around the dimly lit room.

"This year has been undeniably the best year of my life," he whispered into her hair. He felt the grip she had around his waist tighten.

"Even with all of the ups and downs, Pam, I wouldn't trade it for the world."

She turned her face against his body, her nose dragging along his chest as she sought his eyes.

"I am so in love with you, Jim Halpert. And I can't wait to see what 2007 has in store for us. I have a feeling that it's going to be amazing."

They were kissing before the ball had dropped, and continued long after Auld Lang Syne had finished playing.

* * *

Hauling two apartments across New England in the snow wasn't nearly as glamorous as it sounded. They spent the better part of four days with her dad's truck and his mom's minivan piling on the miles from Scranton to Philly to Stamford and back again. By the time her boxes were in the basement of the house he was sharing with Jeff-after only a few pleading moments from Jim that _I don't wanna spend two weeks away from you_ -they were both thoroughly exhausted, sweaty, and hungry beyond belief.

Despite Jeff's best efforts to tell Jim _This is your place, too, man,_ and _Feel free to add to the decor,_ Jim and Pam found themselves trying their hardest to cram everything he owned into his bedroom, buried in a fort of boxes on his empty mattress with a cheap bottle of wine and an empty pizza box.

"So...this is Philly, huh?" she managed between bites of crust.

"Apparently," he replied, munching on his own slice.

"Doesn't seem much different than Scranton," she mused, resting her chin between her pointer finger and thumb as if she was pondering it heavily.

"Yeah? You think so?"

No sooner were the words off his lips than his arm was hooked around her waist, throwing her to her back on the mattress as he hovered over her.

"How 'bout now?"

His eyes, now dark with desire, hung centimeters from hers as his lips breathed against her own that were now parted.

"Hmm...you know, I think I've seen this view in Scranton before. Yup, definitely seen it."

With his lips on her throat just below her ear, he sucked lightly, his voice husky as he said, "Now?"

"I think I recall something similar."

Her words were becoming breathier as his large hands moved to her waist, pushing at the hem of her t-shirt to move it up and over her head.

"What about now?" Each word was punctuated with a kiss down her abdomen, his tongue hot on her skin as it met the waistband of her sweatpants.

"Might be a little different."

Her eyes were closed, her hair fanning against his bare mattress as his fingers tugged sweats and panties down simultaneously. She was already glistening.

When his lips met the corners of her thighs and his tongue began to trace up and down her slit, her fingers curled into tiny fists.

"Now?" His words were hot on her center, a chill darting through her.

"Now that you mention it, this might be brand new."

Finally, his lips closed around her, drawing in her clit with spectacular pressure while his tongue found new ways to make her writhe beneath him. When she was close, her fingers wound their way into his hair, her ankles on his shoulders, obscenities tumbling from her lips as she came against his mouth.

With a smug grin creeping its way through his lips, he crawled his way up her body, brushing his nose across her cheek a few times before wrapping his arms around her waist.

"So." His breath was husky and thick, warm in her ear. "Still think Philly is the same as Scranton?"

As her eyes finally fluttered open, she turned so that their noses were brushing lightly and wrapped a hand around his head to play with the hair around his ears.

"I'm starting to see the upside."

* * *

It was two weeks to the start of her first semester at a big time art school.

In those two weeks, as Jim and Jeff found a workplace and started a business mockup, they spent their time exploring. He took her to a Sixers game and bought her a beanie and a jersey. She took him to the art museum, musing at different pieces and smiling each time he gave her an opinion or asked a thoughtful question instead of glancing at his watch every five minutes and asking if they could go home already.

It was walk in the park in snow boots holding gloved hands, and finding new restaurants and grocery stores and movie theaters. It was figuring out the best routes from her campus to his place, and deciding what nights they would spend in the dorm and when they would be crash at his place, which was much easier to do when they were only twelve minutes across town.

On her last night before classes began, they sat together atop her twin bed with feet dangling off the edge, an episode of Conan playing on her old box TV.

"You ready to hit the books again, Beesly?" he asked, nudging her shoulder with his own as he pulled a forkful of Chinese food to his lips.

"Yeah. Yeah I think I am," she said with a smile, shifting her fork around her own box as she glanced up at him.

Spending the night on a twin-sized mattress was difficult with his height, but they made it work. He found it comical that they had to part ways to communal bathrooms to brush their teeth in the morning, but also out of place as literal teenagers shaved their peach fuzz beside him. Sure, he could've waited until he got home, but it was the thought that counted.

Her palms were sweaty against his own as he walked her to class, feeling incredibly proud as he realized what he was setting her out into the world to do. Her cheeks were rosy with color when they got to her building, and his hands rubbed up and down her arms as they stood just outside the door to her first class.

"Well, this is it, Beesly. First day of the rest of your life."

She bit her lip, ready for the nerves to kick in full force. But they never did. Because when she glanced up, his eyes were swimming with pride and joy and _love_.

His words said the same as he gave her a quick kiss, whispered _I'm so proud of you; I love you_ into her ear while he hugged her tightly, and stood outside the door until she found a seat near the front. She wiggled her fingers and matched his half smile before watching him head towards the door right as her professor began to take roll.

She was able to concentrate on her schedule of classes because she knew that when she was done for the day, he would be waiting for her at his place. They would have dinner, and he would listen to every last word she had to say about the day, asking her questions and offering comments and being genuinely invested in what she had to say.

Because he was Jim.

And as her thoughts drifted momentarily to how she had ever spent a day without this wonderful, wonderful man, she realized that she was a far cry from ever being in that place again.


	36. Chapter 36

At first, it was new and fun and exciting. Going to community college with no real major paled in comparison to being in her element in art school. Each course was focused in different mediums, techniques, and history. It was all so fresh and she felt so free and empowered to be absorbing loads of new information and to be applying what she was learning in an environment that welcomed her talent with open arms.

For Jim, although starting a new business was time-consuming, exhausting work, he thrived on the fact that, for the first time in his a long time, he was actually _doing_ _something_. They had assembled a dedicated team, acquired a small workspace, and were putting together pitches and proposals long into the nights. It was grueling work, but every time the nights wore long or his stomach protested from another skipped meal, he thrived highly on the fact that he was actually proud of the job he was doing.

They had their schedule pretty well aligned. On nights when she worked the desk, he would stay at her dorm. On off nights, she occupied the other half of his bed. Weekends were split evenly, although she had more things in his drawers than he did in her dorm. But when the semester began to pick up with project deadlines all falling simultaneously, and pitch meetings were running well into the nights, they found themselves in a lull.

It was like they were out of sync. She'd miss his call the second it went to voicemail, but he would be running into a meeting right away. He would reach her as soon as she had silenced her phone and put it in her bag for a day of back-to-back-to-back classes. It wasn't anybody's fault. Life just got in the way sometimes.

On a night where she knew he was eating dinner with a potentially business associate, and her tasteless mac-and-cheese added little to the House marathon that ran in the background, she caught his scent in the oversized hoodie of his that she was wearing. It was nights like these that she almost regretted their decision to live apart while she was in school. He'd encouraged to focus on school, and his faith in her had given her the courage to do it. But now, she just missed him

It was one of her two nights off from the check-in desk, but she'd told him to stay home so he could get some rest. Suddenly, she was regretting that decision.

Using the key that he'd made for her the first day they'd moved to Philly, she slipped her shoes off at the door, relocked it, and padded her way up the stairs to his bedroom. In the late hours of the dark evening, she could make out the frazzled strands of hair that stuck out of the blanket he was buried beneath. A faint snore was audible if she focused her ears enough.

Picking up the top corner of the blanket, she scooted her body against his so that her chest was pressing lightly against his back. She wrapped her arms around his waist, lay her cheek against his back, and inhaled the scent that was day-worn, probably-unshowered Jim. It was the greatest aroma she'd breathed in all week.

In the past week since they'd been dodging and missing one another, she hadn't had a restful night's sleep, tossing and turning and often waking in the middle of the night. But now, wrapped around his body, she felt the exhaustion collapse upon her consciousness. As she was on the edge of sleep, he stirred against her, covering her hands where they lay on his stomach before turning to face and embrace her.

"Hey. I'm sorry, I woke you up."

Squinting one eye, he tried his best to see her expression in the darkness.

"Hey." His voice was heavy with sleep, like sandpaper in his throat. "Everything okay?

"I just missed you."

She nuzzled her nose against his chest while he tightened his embrace, kissing the top of her head as he rubbed soft circles against her back.

"Me too."

It was the best sleep they had all week.

* * *

It was only a three month design program, so when she graduated in the spring, it only made sense that she move in with him and Jeff. She didn't need her own room, after all.

While she sought freelance jobs, she worked at the gallery downtown. Having art as her way of life was freeing to her soul in a whole new way.

As Athlead gained a following and a startup, Jim had scraped together enough savings to purchase a condo, and appropriately carried her over the threshold, christening every room before they'd even unpacked a box.

He proposed three months later, having carried around the engagement ring since before they moved to Philadelphia. They were enjoying the late summer sun, walking hand in hand in the park, when she'd stopped for a drink from the fountain. After she finished her drink, she sprayed him, squinting her eyes in laughter when he winced at the cold water against his t-shirt. He chased her playfully around the park, after _Oh, you're_ so _going to get it, Beesly!_ rang in the atmosphere filled with dogs barking and children's laughter. She was squealing with delight when he finally pinned her to the grass, hovering above her with his hands pushing her waist gently into the ground.

The way that she was smiling at him seemed to pull the words _Marry me_ from his heart.

She was kissing him, her arms wrapped around him, fingers tangling in his hair, oblivious to the rest of the world as the sun set around them.

The wedding was small, intimate, perfect.

With just their immediate family under the most beautiful Pennsylvania sunset, she couldn't have imagined a more perfect day. She'd smiled against his chest when they were slow dancing and his lips had whispered, "You're my _wife_ now, Beesly. My _wife_. God, this is the greatest day of my life."

They had left a day between being married and flying out to Puerto Rico for the sole purpose of catching up on sleep, which was well exhibited by the way they had fallen asleep as soon as heads hit pillows.

Of course, she had insisted that he help her step out of her wedding dress and into the wedding gift he'd gotten her: having _MRS. HALPERT_ stitched across her back was thrilling in a completely new sense.

She'd fallen asleep with his arms wrapped around her, but woken up to his lips caressing their way from the waistline of her panties in a line to her breasts, the t-shirt riding up with every push of his head. She sighed, thrusting her hips into the fingers that were looping their way beneath her panties as she let her own hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Sorry to wake you up," he mumbled breathily into her skin, his lips closing around her nipple as he pulled her panties down to her knees.

"I just really, _really_ wanted to kiss my wife."

"Oh, your wife, huh?" she mused sultrily, meeting his eyes as he pulled himself up her body to rub his cheek against hers before kissing at the corner of her lips.

"Mhm. I got married yesterday, you know."

"Wow, what a coincidence," she muttered back, her hand finding him hard and heavy on her thigh as she stroked him lazily from bottom to top. "I got married yesterday, too. I was wondering when I was going to get a chance to ravish my husband."

"Does now seem appropriate?" he asked, his voice husky as he nipped at her bottom lip, wrapping a hand around hers to guide his tip to brush back and forth along her slick slit.

"God, _please_ ," she moaned, pulling him closer until he finally filled her completely.

When he came inside of her, and she shuddered around him quickly after, she realized that she wouldn't ever mind being woken up in this way.

* * *

They never _really_ fought.

Sure, there were spats and small arguments and disagreements here and there, but they'd always ended in eye rolls and _God, why are we being this stupid?_ and spontaneous sex in the middle of the kitchen floor.

But this?

This was different.

It was her first art show.

Her first _real_ _art show_.

And he had missed it.

Sure, the exhibit ran Friday through Sunday, and of course he'd be there eventually, but this was _big_.

When he'd come home around one in the morning, his apologies had tapered with exhaustion and excuses. Instead of the _God, Pam, I'm so sorry. What can I do to make this up to you?_ that she had been expecting, it was _I_ _'_ _m sorry, babe. We got caught up in a meeting. You knew this client was important. What do you want from me? I'll be there all day tomorrow; how does that sound?_

It didn't sound like Jim. It sounded like _Roy_ _._

And he sure as _hell_ hadn't appreciated when that observation spat from her bitter lips.

The argument had escalated quickly, with lights going on at the neighbor's place while all of her pent up aggression towards his focus on the company taking precedence over their marriage spilled forth, and his retaliation about how all of this was to make her happy, and _did she not see that?_ sent a vase of flowers crashing to the floor.

He was always expressive when he talked. It was something that she loved about him. But when his arms had whacked the edge of the table and glass shattered all over the kitchen floor, she wasn't so sure anymore.

Her eyes went wide as she froze to the spot like a deer in headlights, matching the expression that he wore. He wasn't expecting for it to happen. He wasn't a violent man by any means of the word. But now, by the fear in her eyes, he choked back the reality that he had just presented her with.

He reached out to her tentatively, his heart crumbling when she retracted ever so slightly, her name a whisper on his lips in the tension-ridden air.

She closed herself in their bedroom, tears staining the pillow and the bedspread as she cried herself into an exhausted state. She wanted him to hold her, to tell her everything was okay, because that had always been his role. But by the time she was feeling strong enough to even get out of bed, it was all washing over her again, pinning her exhaustively to the mattress.

He wanted so, _so_ _badly_ to chase after her, to hold her to his chest and kiss all of his mistakes away, but he knew better.

He had hurt her. _Deeply_. And he didn't get to be that person right now.

In all of the years that they'd been together, he'd never slept on the couch as a timeout. They'd vowed never to go to bed angry. He wasn't sure tonight counted, though, because although his head hit the throw pillow, and the tie blanket she'd made him two Christmases ago was draped unceremoniously across his body, he definitely wasn't getting any sleep tonight.

Around four in the morning, the light in the hallway kicked on, and he heard her tiptoed steps approaching. Slowly, he lifted his head from the headrest, not wanting to startle her. He felt almost dirty as he peeked over the back to watch her pour herself a glass of water. With her back turned to him, he could still make out the word _HALPERT_ beneath her loose curls.

When she turned around, she jumped slightly, the water in the glass sloshing at her lips. They locked eyes, neither really knowing what to say. He stayed on the couch; she stayed in the kitchen, the water still in the glass. Setting it down on the counter, her drink still untouched, she made her way slowly around the island to where the open concept floors between kitchen and living room met.

"I, uh, didn't mean to wake you up. Sorry," she mumbled, her toes fidgeting with where the carpet met hardwood, her eyes fixated on that same line, hesitant to meet his gaze.

"Yeah, it's okay. I wasn't really asleep. Don't apologize." His words were gravelly, his throat dry from all the yelling they'd done earlier.

Sheepish eyes found one another as she uttered, "Oh. You too?"

A moment passed, their eyes flickering from the floor to one another, both still unsure of how to navigate this, when quicker than he'd thought possible, he was up and around the side of the couch, meeting her halfway in a crushing embrace. He cradled her head almost forcibly to his chest, fearing that if he let go, she would disappear into thin air. His other arm wrapped so tightly around her waist that she was sure she'd have a bruise in the morning, but she didn't care. With her own arms, she couldn't seem to hold onto him tightly enough.

 _God I'm so sorry_ 's and _I love you so much_ _,_ were mashed into skin as they held on tightly for an indefinite length, rocking in suspended time as dawn began to break over the horizon.

When he felt her arms begin to loosen and her breathing slow, he wound his way under her knees and carried her to their bed, keeping their bodies wrapped together from behind her as he kissed her hair and her temple and the back of her neck.

They slept for a few hours at a time, stirring only to pull closer to one another. Close to noon, as he was watching her eyes flutter against his chest, she finally awoke, her wide eyes still shy as he traced her chin with his fingers.

"Hey," he began, tentatively, his index finger tracing the curvature from her ear to her chin and back again.

"Hey."

They passed timid smiles, and she drew her bottom lip between her lip before he finally said, "Pam, I love you. I love you _so much_."

The fingers that had been resting on his chest found their way to his forearm.

"God, I love you too. This...Jim, I don't ever want to fight like that again."

"Me too."

He touched his forehead to hers, their noses squished a little bit between. Their breaths mingled in the middle through parted lips, and when he opened his eyes and saw the pleading behind her own, his hands tangled in her hair to pull their lips together.

She had teased him on more than one occasion when he had insisted that having sex and making love were two completely different things.

 _What we did in the backseat of the car in the park last week?_ That _was having sex. I might even call that a mindless fuck, at the rate you were going_ _,_ he chuckled, watching her face positively flush. _Making love is what we do in the early hours of the morning, when it's slow and gentle, and your hands are massaging the back of my head, and your eyes don't leave mine, and everything just clicks._

This morning, there was no teasing. There was only the slow, loving movement of him inside of her, her hands in his hair, her lips buried against his neck while his fingers touched every part of her bare skin. When he felt her clenching around him, he reached two fingers beneath her chin to watch the way her eyes swelled when she came against him.

He donned a pair of boxers while his high school basketball shirt found its way to her shoulders.

Over a lazy Saturday brunch that trailed into the late afternoon, they finally got their peace out in the open. Without raised voices, she told him how distant he felt lately, that she knew he was only working to make their life together better, but that she'd rather have him jobless and in a box on the side of the highway than married _to_ his job. He confessed that he hadn't known, that he'd been so busy that he barely realized they were seeing each other less. That it broke his heart to see her like this, broke his heart that he had let so much time pass them by without even noticing. That he never wanted to lose sight of her again.

Their compromise to be more conscious of one another's sacrifices was settled, as was his promise, despite her defiance, that he would take the next week off to spend together.

He lingered by her exhibit all night, his pride for the months of work he'd missed out on positively beaming from the inside out. She'd eventually kicked him out for a lap around the rest of the exhibits, but after a full seven minutes, he was by her side again.

Spats and fights and disagreements were inevitable. But by the look in his eyes as he rounded toward her table again, she knew that they would get though it all.

* * *

She didn't have morning sickness.

She had _literally any unpredictable, inconvenient time of the day_ sickness.

And it was hell.

But he was perfect.

Always by her side, rubbing her back, holding a cold towel to her forehead. He brought her Gatorade, and water when the lemon-lime taste made her nauseous. Saltines replaced the condoms on his bedside table.

But honestly, this had been going on for three weeks, and she knew that he was tired because Athlead was in its first full year of making commission, and his meetings and business dinners were really piling up, but here he was, by her side every single time she hurled.

 _The_ least romantic thing she'd ever done with her husband.

So tonight, after he'd passed out-and passed out _hard_ -she had stolen away to the downstairs guest bathroom. No matter that she was growing a human inside of her. He needed a night of peace, and she was damn well going to give it to him.

With her pillow and a blanket stolen from the couch, she made herself a nest on the cold tile and settled in for a long winter's nap.

Sure enough, her body began to shudder around two in the morning, but something about her REM cycle was making it difficult to pick her head up to reach the toilet.

 _Oh well,_ she thought haphazardly, _Guess I'll be cleaning puke out of my hair again after all._

Suddenly, strong hands were under her shoulders, cradling her head, pulling her hair back. Her chin hit porcelain right before last night's dinner drained from her body.

"Sorry to wake you up, Bees, but I didn't think you'd be up for another three-am shower."

His hands rubbed her belly from behind the whole time, his cheek pressed into the back of her neck beneath the ponytail he'd affixed her hair into. Eventually, she scooted around on her knees.

Directly in front of her, his eyes screamed exhaustion, but his smile was all love.

Behind him, she noticed that her pillow had a partner, and that the comforter from their bed was frumpled on the bathroom floor. Momentarily, she wondered how long he'd been there.

He offered her a glass of water, helped her lie down, and tucked the comforter under her chin while he tucked her head under his own.

"Jim, baby, you should really just get some sleep."

His fingers clasped more tightly around her slightly swollen belly.

"See, that's the problem," he mused to the back of her head. "This is the _only_ way I can sleep."

"Oh, really?" she chuckled. "Next to a whale who is on the verge of upchucking for the fourth time since lunch?"

He hummed, smiling against her neck.

"Not quite. Try, 'with my beautiful wife who is so busy working overtime to grow our baby that sometimes, she loses her lunch."

"And her dinner. And her after dinner snack. And sometimes her dessert."

"And your point is?" His laughter shook against her, so she held on tighter to his forearms.

"I don't know. I'm gross."

She tucked her cheek into the crook of his elbow as he pulled her more tightly against his body.

"You are not. You're perfect."

And right there, in his arms, as he slept with her on the floor of their guest bathroom, she believed him.

* * *

She had been _amazing_.

It was indescribable, really, what the female body could do.

What her body had done not three weeks ago.

In the hours that they weren't spending hovering and marveling and loving up on sweet little Cecelia Marie, he was continuously telling her just how amazing she was.

Eventually, she had rolled her eyes, laughed it off, and told him to _Save the suck-up material for when he did something wrong,_ but he didn't care. She deserved all of the praise he could muster. She had given him the greatest gift that life had to offer, and it was finally falling back to sleep in his arms, wrapped in a pink blanket that his grandmother had knit.

"Your mommy is pretty amazing, you know," he whispered in what Pam had affectionately dubbed his _Daddy voice._ "Not only for spending twenty-seven hours trying to bring you into this world, but for just... _everything_ that she does for us. You scored the best mom on the planet, kid. One day, when you're older, we can pinch each other to make sure this is all still real."

He'd caught Cece just as she had woken herself with cries in the bassinet and brought her to the nursery that she had yet to sleep in. Pam wanted to keep her close until at least six weeks, and he hadn't fought her in the slightest. There was something about waking up surrounded by his two favorite people in the world that started his day on already the highest note. He stood at the edge of the crib, rocking slowly back and forth as his daughter's cries came to a complete halt, her big grey eyes watching as he continued his monologue.

"I almost lost your mom. But _god_ am I glad I didn't. It wasn't the easiest time of my life. I had to watch her battle an ogre for many, many years, and excuse my language, but that really _sucked_. But it was worth the fight, Cece. God, was it worth it."

Cece's lips sucked the open air while her father gazed lovingly down at her.

"I'm grateful for everyday that I have with your mom. Not a day goes by that I don't love her even more. And now that she gave me you? Well, kid, I don't see that slowing down anytime soon. But, if you could do me a favor and at least _try_ to figure out this whole sleeping schedule thing soon, I'd really appreciate it. She's been up with you all day and every night this week. You've gotta give her a break sometime."

The sniffle gave her away.

He turned around slowly, not wanting to startle the baby whose eyes were finally blinking closed again.

"Heeeeeeey," he said softly, his lopsided smile glowing in the dim nightlight that was plugged in beside the changing table.

She looked so cute in his t-shirt, that was now covered in baby spit-up, her curls frazzled and frumpy around her head. He'd once mused that her bedhead resembled a lion's mane, and in return, she'd shown him a sexual side that he'd never seen before. But right now, she looked so sweet and pure and innocent that all he wanted to do was cuddle her to his chest.

The little bundle in his arms reminded him to at least be gentle with those intentions.

"I'm sorry, Beesly, I didn't mean to wake you up. I was gonna let you sleep tonight."

"It's okay," she whispered, drumming her fingers against his forearm as she placed a sweet kiss to Cece's sleeping head. "I'd much rather be here."

They stayed like that for a moment or two, the silence of their breathing mingled with their daughter's more than enough to set the ambience of their new family life.

As he felt her weight growing heavier against his shoulder, he kissed the top of her head and whispered, "C'mon. Let's go back to bed."

They kissed her each a thousand times before laying her back in the bassinet. When Pam settled her head on his chest, her arm slung across his waist, he thought she would fall asleep easily. Suddenly, though, she was pinching his skin.

"Ow," he chuckled, lacing his fingers through the offending hand. "What was that for?"

"Just making sure you know that this is real."

"Hey, how did you-"

Spotting the baby monitor blinking on her bedside table, he cocked his head and nuzzled his nose against her cheek.

"I think the same thing everyday, too, ya know," she whispered into his chest. "You've given me more than I could ever imagine this life bringing me. I love you so much, Jim. And the little family you gave me."

Before he could respond, she was breathing deeply, her fingers curling reflexively at his hips.

Despite the exhaustion that had become part of his daily routine, he'd give anything to wake up like this every night.

* * *

He was going on four hours of sleep, freshly back from a business trip that was two time zones over, a crick in his neck the size of Texas courtesy of American Airlines.

He hadn't even made it up to bed. The couch in the living room was pure _heaven_.

Cece wouldn't be home from school for another two hours, at least, and Pam had promised him over the phone that morning to be out of the house when he got home, and that she'd be taking the kids to the park and out to dinner so that he could get some rest.

So why, when the clock was telling him that he'd only been asleep for forty-five minutes, was his cell phone buzzing insistently on the coffee table? The first time, he'd slept through it. On the second call, he'd ignored it, willing whoever was calling to just _go away._

But on the third time, though his eyes were protesting, he lifted the receiver to his ear, sitting upright as soon as Pam's panicked voice began.

"Baby, I'm so sorry that I have to wake you up, but…"

It was _Phillip_ and _ER_ and _God, Jim, it bent all the way backwards_ and _I need you_ , but he was in his car long before that.

He'd fallen off the playground, landing on his left arm backwards, breaking it in two places at the elbow. He was only two, so his bones were still fragile. Surgery was done with a laser. The cast went from his fingers to his shoulder. The doctor assured them that he would heal just fine, but still, Cece had survived far worse in her four years. They'd been lucky, all things considered.

Cece slept on a cot behind Phillip's bed, her butt stuck up in the air with her thumb in her mouth. Phillip's drug-induced slumber had his face pale and his body tinier than two years old pegged him for.

Despite his jet-lagged, exhaustive state, Jim had been wide awake since the moment he'd gotten that phone call.

With their fingers laced in his lap, Pam turned her head on his shoulder and kissed him slowly through the fabric of the button down that he hadn't gotten the chance to change out of.

"Hey. Why don't you get some sleep? We can scoot Cece over. Take a few hours. He'll want to see you in the morning."

"I...I don't know if I can."

She unclasped her fingers from his to cradle his cheek.

"Hey. He's going to be okay."

"I wasn't there, Pam. He got hurt, and I wasn't there."

"Baby, please do not blame yourself. It was an _accident_. You've gotta let it go."

Even in her reassurances, he remained awake until the morning nurses began to make their rounds.

His voice was so, so small when he woke up, in stark contrast to the usually booming little boy that they often had to remind to quiet down when they were in public places. This was the same kid who, when Pam had explained what communion was at church, had ran up to the altar and screeched, " _Don't eat Jesus!_ " to their pastor. That same voice, so small, made Jim's breath catch in his throat.

"Dada?"

"Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?"

"Missed dada."

Phillip struggled at first, forgetting that his arm was in a cast when he reached out for his father. Jim scooped the little boy into his lap in one swift carry, burying his nose in his little boy's head as he kissed him gently.

"I missed you too, buddy."

"Dada? My arm hurt."

"I know, pal, I know. But hey. You look pretty cool with that cast. It makes you look tough."

"Tough?"

"Absolutely. Tough like a superhero."

"Tough like dada?"

Like a breath of fresh air, he felt the weight from his chest lift. His kids were going to fall down. They would be bruised and broken at times, but he would always be there to catch them when they fell.

"Maybe even a little tougher than dada," Pam said, returning with breakfast in one hand and Cece in the other.

And if he couldn't catch them, his wonderful, amazing wife would be there, too.

* * *

Parenthood was weird.

The people who said that marriage took a backseat once you had kids weren't lying.

In between school and t-ball games and basketball tournaments and Cece's guitar lessons and Phillip's Boy Scout meetings, they barely had a moment to themselves. When Pam wasn't juggling after-school activity schedules and homework-all done with a toddler on her hip-she was co-running the gallery downtown, making dinner, and making sure they all had semi-clean clothes for the week. Athlead was more than thriving, and while Jim missed being the one to scout the talent, he was incredibly comfortable being in the office from 8 to 5 instead of in another state for one weekend a month.

In the middle of all the chaos, they were lucky if the laundry was done and they got a good six hours before the new day began.

She was up late the night before packing "game bags" for the next day: Cece's basketball uniform was laid out and ready to go in her room, and her duffel was packed with extra socks, hair ties, flip flops for between games, spending cash ("What if there's tournament t-shirts, mom?! You _know_ dad never carries money!") and a stick of deodorant. The other bag had sandwiches that would inevitably be shoved to the wayside for the concession stand, healthy snacks that wouldn't be given a second thought, and a family sized bag of Munchies that would probably be halfway gone by the time the Halpert cheering crew showed up.

Jim's coaches clipboard was seated on top, along with his warm up jacket, hat, and a Post-It note that said, _Good luck out there, Halpert. Love, the coach's biggest fan._

Thanks to modern technology, the coffee was set to brew at five-AM, ready by the time Jim's shower was finished. She would be up at four-thirty to prepare a healthy breakfast and get Cece out of bed so Jim could get ready, shoo them out the door by five-forty-five, and have just enough time to clean up the dishes before Emma eventually woke with a wet Pull-Up. Potty training did _not_ get easier the third time around. Between a birthday party for Phillip's friend and running to the post office to mail his mom's birthday gift, she would be lucky if she made the last game of the day.

It was almost two by the time her head finally hit the pillow, setting her alarm for what was essentially a quick cat nap.

When she awoke to more light than normal, she knew something was wrong.

Jim was standing at the edge of the bed, light creeping through from the hallway just enough so that she could see him tying his Nike's. He was already dressed in his coaches garb, his hat covering his damp hair. She jumped with a start, legs swinging off the bed when she noticed that the clock was blinking _5:37_. Before she could make it around the bed, he grabbed her around the waist, effectively toppling her into his lap.

"Sorry, babe, I didn't mean to wake you-"

" _Sh_ _it_ , baby, I'm so sorry. I forgot to set my alarm. Is Cece awake? Are you going to be late? I'm so sorry babe, I-"

"Woah there, Beesly, slow your roll."

He seemed way too calm for someone who was about to take on a girl's 9-and-under basketball tournament.

"I shut your alarm off. Cece is packed and ready to go. The car is loaded. Get five more minutes of sleep before Emma wakes up."

She was already melting in his arms, staring up at the man whose face, she noticed, was becoming a little older. Not in a bad way. The lines were more defined, handsome. Reaching up to cup his cheek, it hit her hard just how much she missed this. She pulled herself up to meet his lips halfway, snaking her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck beneath his ball cap. When she darted her tongue against his lower lip, he parted his immediately, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to pull her closer. They made out for a few minutes, soft pants and moans filling their darkened room, when Cece's voice broke their moment with _Dad! We're going to be late!_ followed by the slamming of the garage door.

He pulled away reluctantly, letting his fingers graze her cheek softly before chuckling, "When did we get a teenager?"

She simply rolled her eyes before sitting up more full in his lap. Sighing, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head in the crook of his neck.

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too," he sighed into the top of her head, leaving a lingering kiss in the middle of her bedhead.

"So, the games are at 8, 11, and 2:30, right?"

"Yup. If we win at 2:30, we play at 5, and a win at 5 puts us at the noon spot tomorrow. A loss gets us the 7 AM game."

"For the love of god, _please_ win. Just one day of sleeping in would be magical."

He laughed, standing with her as they walked towards the garage.

"Thank you for my extra sleep this morning," she mumbled against his chest when he pulled her into a hug that was longer than the typical _goodbye's_ they'd had as of late.

"Anytime, Wonder Woman. Thank you for all that you do for us." As he'd gotten ready that morning, he'd tucked her Post-It into his wallet, among a dozen others that she'd given him in the past few weeks.

They kissed goodbye more than once before Cece, in a moment of impatience, beeped the car horn, which echoed throughout the house. Emma's _Momma, I wet!_ was already echoing from upstairs.

She propped the top of her head against his chest, groaning.

"Hey, make that kid of yours run extra laps today, will you?"

"I'll see you later," he chuckled, kissing the top of her head before heading out the door.

She hadn't made it to the bottom of the stairs before she was being grabbed from the waist, turned around, and assaulted by a passionate throw of his lips. When he pulled away, his green eyes had gone hazy.

"I love you, Beesly."

Licking her bottom lip, she whispered, "I love you, too."

By her husband's coaching skills or the grace of God, Cece's team had won the first two games, and Pam and the rest of the Halpert clan were just in time for game number three. They were met by hellos from the other parents, and Phillip was already pulling action figures from the diaper bag when the younger siblings of the other girls joined him in the front row. Sitting behind the players, Pam and the kids looked like they belonged on the team. Each of the Halpert's in the crowd donned a matching blue t-shirt that read _HALPERT 18_ on the back. Emma's, of course, hung to her knees, and Phillip had put up a fight that he should get to wear his _own_ basketball jersey (which was from the rec league and "didn't even have a _name_ mom! Why does Cece get a name?!"), but eventually Pam had won. Somehow, she always did.

Cece had waved, thrilled to see her mom in the stands ready to cheer her on. When her braids bounced to halfcourt, Jim glanced up, passing his crooked smile and half wave just slightly before pulling his attention back to the girls on the court. It was his three-year-old daughter, pompom in hand, yelling _Go daddy! Go Cece! Go baka-ball! Go Emma!_ His son, preoccupied already with Jennie Reilly's brothers and their Captain America figures.

And his wife. His beautiful, wonderful wife, who had gotten caught up in the mix of life's monotony for far too long.

Her golden curls were pulled into a ponytail today, a cotton headband resting at her forehead. Her blue t-shirt matched the logo over his breastbone pocket and his coach's uniform. The _Halpert_ on the back of her shirt today wasn't possessive of him personally, but of their whole family. Somehow, that meant so much more.

The girls won 32-to-24, pushing them to the noon game on Sunday with a perfect record going into tournament play. As they enjoyed post-game pizza with the rest of the team, and Pam chatted at the "basketball moms" end of the table, he snuck off to make a phone call. When he returned, he stopped to kiss her head longingly, earning a chorus of swoons from the rest of the ladies.

Arriving home should've been a rush of showers and baths and unpacking everything from today so that she could pack for tomorrow. But as she looked up from making her mental checklist and saw the blue minivan in their driveway, she immediately turned toward her husband, grinning as she took his hand.

"Momma, why is Auntie Risa here? Did she bring Duncan?! Can we play?!"

Phillip was out of the car before Jim put it in park, rushing to meet up with his younger cousin, as her sister-in-law stepped out of her own car.

With a waggle of her eyebrows, Larisa chimed, "Hey Halpert's. Heard you could use a little night alone."

Pam smiled, watching as the boys chased each other in circles around her pregnant sister-in-law and Cece carried her sister inside to pack their overnight bags. After Larisa had met Jeff at one of Jim's Athlead functions, things had progressed pretty quickly. All things considered, it was a dream come true to have his kid sister right down the street.

It took a good half hour before the kids were packed and ready to go, but once her van turned off of their street, Jim glanced down at his wife in a way that said _I love you_ and _I miss you_ and _I'm going to spend the next twelve hours doing nothing but staring at you._

"So," she began, inching steadily closer to her husband, whose grin was growing more sly by the second, "what exactly did you have in mind for us when you kicked our children out for the night, Mr. Halpert?"

"Oh, Mrs. Halpert," he retorted, his voice dark and rich in a way that she hadn't heard in awhile, sending tingles to her toes, "you have _no_ idea."

An hour later, pajama clad and ice cream satiated, she had beaten him four times in Mario Kart.

"Come _on_ _,_ Beesly, that's not fair! Give me a turn with the wheel remote!"

"It's all about the wrist action, James. Don't blame the equipment. A true master of Mario Kart can win with _any_ controller."

"Oh, it's all about wrist action, huh?"

And suddenly, the look in his eyes wasn't young and playful anymore. It was hungry with desire.

He was on his knees, moving quickly towards her. Plucking the remote from her hand, he let it fall behind her onto the carpet and gently pushed her shoulders so they fell back. She leaned back on her forearms with both knees bent up, letting the desire in his eyes wash over her senses as he hovered above her.

He wasted no time, trailing his fingers along her inner thighs to where the hem of his t-shirt hit her knees, lifting it enough to find his target without breaking their eye contact. A moan hitched in her throat when his fingers pressed lightly over the quickly dampening cotton, his light, gentle strokes driving her mad.

"Is this the wrist action you were referring to, Mrs. Halpert?"

She did nothing but buck against his fingers, uttered nothing but the escaped whimper that snuck past the lip she had pulled between her teeth. She thrusted steadily into the agonizingly delicate passes that he was making at the cotton that was clingling wetly to her clit.

"Or could it be this?"

All at once, his middle finger was nudging her panties to the side and slipping easily inside her, warm and wet and distantly familiar. Her entire throat became exposed as she threw her head back, the noise that escaped her guttural and wanting as she thrust her hips into his still slow touch.

" _Fuck_ _,_ Jim," she breathed as he added his ring finger, leaning over her body to run his tongue along her throat. He was kneeling with one leg bent between hers, while the other landed somewhere near the left of her abdomen. Her fingers found his knee there, spidering over the skin as she tried to hold onto _something_.

The thrusting of his fingers became more intentional now, as his cock became hard against the leg he had trapped between hers, and he could feel her increasing arousal sliding past his fingers. The way her hips were shifting against his hand more erratically told him she was close, and when he nudged her clit with his thumb, the growls that vibrated from her throat to his lips made him twitch insistently against her.

"Holy, oh _shit_ _,_ fucking, _Captain_ _America_."

"Huh?"

Despite her shy, timid character, Pam was actually very vocal in bed. It turned him on incredibly, knowing that this was a secret that they shared, that she only did this for _him_.

But this? This was new.

"Uh, haven't heard that one before, babe." He had stilled his fingers momentarily, his expression twisted in confusion as he pulled his lips from her throat. She continued moving, however, and for a split second, he thought she was just _really_ getting into the new movie that they'd taken Phillip to see. He didn't blame her. Chris Evans _was_ an attractive man. But as she lifted her back, simultaneously enveloping his fingers more deeply, a plastic action figure appeared in her hands.

She smiled up at him and cocked an eyebrow. "He was stuck under my ass. I guess the poor guy wanted in on the fun."

Jim chuckled, plucking Phillip's toy from his wife's hand. After tossing it onto the couch behind him, he wrapped an arm around her waist in one swift motion and carried her to their bedroom.

It wasn't like they had gone _months_ without sex. There were stolen moments of groping and over the pants action with some late night or early morning quickies in between. But it wasn't _them_. When he was pushing into her from behind while they spooned first thing in the morning, he wasn't able to ravish her body like he was now with her balanced on top of him. While she fisted his cock in her hand and grinded against his leg, he took his time running his hands over every available surface that her skin had to offer, becoming reacquainted with her body as if to make up for lost time. Her arms, her sides, her rounded hips, down to her knees. His fingers tickled up her stomach before finding a home on her breasts, squeezing them wholly before pinching her nipples, loving the little mewls that she made and how each time he squeezed, she would return the favor around his cock.

When she finally pulled her body over him, it was like coming home. She was leaning back with her hands on his thighs as she moved up and down his length, taking him in slowly, fully, savoring the way he filled her. He couldn't pull his eyes off her body as it moved against him, the way her lips parted and her head fell back slightly, the way she gripped his thighs tighter each time she pulsed around him. She'd been close before, and the way that her body was smacking harder against his with each thrust told him she was about ready to come apart. He nudged his thumb against her clit, rubbing in quick circles with one hand as he reached for her cheek with the other.

"Look at me, baby," he whispered, pulling her gaze downward. When she opened her eyes, they were huge and dark as the night. With her lips still parted, she thrusted forward towards his touch, locking their gazes as she shuddered around him. His hands moved to her hips, helping her steady the frantic rhythm that had spasmed through her body. While she was still coming down from her high, he flipped them over, still holding himself inside of her.

He set a new, quicker pace, his lips finding hers, his tongue travelling inside her mouth in a way that it hadn't been in far too long. He peppered kisses across her cheeks, at her ears, down her throat, before coming to find her lips again. He peered into her eyes quickly before resting his cheek against hers, feeling his orgasm about to burst.

Through panting breaths he whispered, "Can you come again?" and didn't wait for an answer before finding her clit with three of his fingers, rubbing as furiously as she was nodding against his cheek.

Her thighs clenched around around him, her feet pushing against the back of his calves as he drove them home. He spilled into her sharp and quick, several strings of _Fuck, Pam, Jesus_ _,_ spilling incoherently hitting her ear. Her second orgasm quickly followed, and she pulled at his hair, clutched his back as she shuddered around him.

They stayed there for awhile, with his body laying on top of her, her fingers still pulling lazily at the hair at the nape of his neck. His cheek remained against hers, with his nose buried under her ear, their breathing finding a steady rate while he softened inside of her.

Eventually, she nudged her hands against his chest, pushing him off. But he didn't want to lose the connection, so no sooner was she pinned beneath him than she was pulled tightly against his back.

"Still got it, huh?" he chuckled into her hair.

"Mhm, definitely," she sighed, kissing the back of his hand and snuggling closer to his warm body.

They made love twice more throughout the night, once lazy and slow when he woke up hard behind her and pulled her as tightly to him as he could, painting her shoulders with soft kisses as she writhed against him. The next was more intense, rough and fast and loud. She'd been nipping low on his chest when he awoke in the middle of the night, and when she glanced up at him under the cover of the moon, he could've sworn she growled.

He also knew that human bodies weren't supposed to bend that way, and that he was lucky that he was only _coaching_ basketball the next day.

He was sleeping more soundly than he had in weeks when suddenly he was wet and warm and hard and tingly. He was moaning audibly before he even opened his eyes. He knew before he looked down that she was dangerously close to taking him all the way down her throat.

He threaded his fingers in her hair and gently pushed her down while he rocked into her soft, slick mouth. The sensation was gone, but only for a moment, while she muttered, "Good morning, handsome," around him before licking up his length quickly and pulling her lips around him again.

"Mhm, mor- _oh god_."

His other hand found her hair, and he began massaging her head as she sucked and licked and worshipped him before he was even fully conscious. His hips were pulsing erratically now, and as he trailed his thumbs to her cheeks and somehow uttered, "Pam, gonna, co-" there was laughter and banging as four children barreled through the front door.

Frozen together, their matching wide eyes met, hearing, "Momma! Daddy! Auntie Risa got us Dunkin!" echoed up the stairs.

Without a word, she slunk down to the edge of the bed, clicked the lock on their door into place, and waltzed back across their bedroom, pushing the hair back on his forehead as she positioned herself over him.

It wasn't long at all before he was biting into her shoulder to stifle the noises that he wanted to scream to the mountaintops.

She kissed him slowly, sensually, caressed his cheek tenderly before grabbing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

"I'll see you down there, Halpert."

The waggle in her eyebrows sent mixed messages, and he could feel his still pulsing cock twitch as he watched her saunter out the door.

When he made his first appearance in the kitchen, freshly (cold) showered, he took a moment to admire the scene in his kitchen.

His son was playing superheroes with his sister's son.

His older daughter was pulling his younger daughter's hair into pigtails so that she could "Match Sissy" (she still couldn't say _Cece_ , but they Sissy was more than appropriate).

His wife sipped at her iced coffee while she gently rubbed the growing bump that was protruding from his sister's belly.

In all of his years of imagining the life he had ahead, he couldn't have come up with something better than this.

They would be woken up plenty of times over the years. When Phillip tried sneaking out in the middle of the night but wound up stuck halfway out the upstairs window. When Cece, misjudging a party her senior year of high school, needed dad to come pick her up, no questions asked. When Emma's cold symptoms were actually the onset of pneumonia, giving them the scare of a lifetime.

When Phillip called from Hawaii with the news that _Mom? Dad? She said yes!_

When Cecelia was going into labor for the first time and wanted her mom to be there.

When Emma, on the eve of her graduation with a doctorate in business, snuck back inside for "one more night at mom and dad's."

It would be a lifetime of ups and downs, that was for sure.

But they would always be thankful for her nights of inhibition, of her needing her best friend. Those late night phone calls that turned into more. For three-AM cartoons and stuffed crust pizza and Valentine's Day confessions, and everything in between that led them to finally being _awake_.


End file.
